


All I Want for Christmas Is You (to Ignore My Runaway Insecurity)

by valahallalmalla



Series: Mall Tales [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mall/Shopping Center, Christmas Special, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Guest starring Emma's many insecurities, Mall AU 2- Mall Harder, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28102836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valahallalmalla/pseuds/valahallalmalla
Summary: Things are looking up for Emma Swan, security guard and one half of Storybrooke Mall’s newest power couple. Her girlfriend is as gorgeous as she is terrifying, she’s just been promoted to junior assistant patrol sergeant, and the leaks in her apartment have… mostly stopped.But Christmas is looming, bringing old anxieties with it. Finding the perfect gift for Regina is even harder than Emma feared—what do you buy the woman who has half a shopping center under her thumb? She’s running out of options, out of time, and she’s pretty sure she’s being stalked by Santa…
Relationships: Belle/Mulan (Once Upon a Time), Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Series: Mall Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058822
Comments: 48
Kudos: 158





	1. T-Minus 10 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Falling For a False Sense (of Security).
> 
> A less-than-serious exploration of Emma's (poor) reaction to the holiday season.
> 
> Planning to post a chapter per day until Christmas.

“What about a necklace?”

“Seriously?” Emma cranes her neck to glare at Elsa, who has the grace to look guilty. At the moment, Emma is shoulder-deep in the concession stand’s slushie machine—again—fishing for Elsa’s own necklace— _again_ —hence the glaring and the craning. “You can barely keep yours around your neck.”

“I always get it back, don’t I?” defends the other blonde. “Mostly thanks to you, but still…” She touches a hand to the hollow of her neck. “It means a lot to me.”

Emma sighs, finally feeling the prongs of Elsa’s snowflake pendant. “It better,” she grumbles, struggling to grasp it with numb fingers. “But Regina _has_ jewelry—tons of it, and not the cheap stuff, either. I can't compete with that.”

Elsa frowns. “Competing isn’t the point,” she insists. “I don’t treasure my necklace because of how much it costs. I do because—”

_WHOORRRRK_

The slushie machine shakes as it starts up, the screw at the bottom rumbling into motion. Emma and Elsa both shriek as the frozen sludge starts to churn around her arm, nearly dragging the necklace from her grasp before she yanks free.

“I thought you unplugged the thing this time!”

“I _did_!”

-

❅

-

“Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ like a gym membership,” suggests Doctor Whale.

“Doesn’t anyone in this place mind their own business?”

He shrugs. “Hey, I’ve got good ears.”

A jar full of them, maybe. Emma eyes the owner of FrankenFitness with a wary eye. Okay, it’s not like she really believes the rumors about organ transplants or secret plastic surgery labs, but better safe than sorry, you know?

Whale just smiles back, sliding a flyer across the tabletop. _Building the best bodies we can!_ it proudly proclaims. “Everyone likes to feel good about themselves,” he says. “All we want is to help.”

“You’ve _seen_ Regina, right?” Emma points out, then glares as Whale nods a little too eagerly.

“Even so.” His voice drops to a vaguely sinister murmur. “I may have a few tricks to… shall we say, _nudge_ anyone toward their full potential. Electrotherapy, chemical baths, cutting-edge health plans.” Another flyer creeps forward, this one far less flashy. “There’s this supplement that’s extracted from—”

Emma holds up a hand. “I may not be a cop, but I still have to report anything illegal. You know that, right?”

The flyer disappears as Whale attempts to look innocent. It’s not very successful; his face lost that battle years ago.

“Have a nice day, officer.”

-

❅

-

“A scented candle?” suggests Mary Margaret.

“ _You_ sell scented candles,” Emma points out. “And we all know how Regina feels about you.”

She’s never delved too deeply into Regina’s grudge against Mary Margaret. According to Ruby, the vendetta used to be much more vicious, but these days Regina satisfies herself with petty slights, like printing hundreds of false coupons and placing them at strategic locations across the mall.

“I don’t know where she finds the time,” Mary Margaret sighs, flipping through the stack Emma placed on her counter. “It’s almost admirable.” Her delicate brows contract, lips pursing in a pout. “Did people actually believe these? I don’t even sell”—she squints—“massage candles? Emma, what are _massage_ candles?”

“Uh.” Emma can't meet her friend’s eye. “I dunno.”

Mary Margaret sags. “I suppose it’s better than the time she advertised my store in that bondage newsletter,” she says.

“Not really,” mutters Emma.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Look, M.M., you’d get fewer… adult shoppers if you listened to Mulan and changed the name.”

As usual, the suggestion only elicits a blank look. “What’s wrong with Burning Love?” Mary Margaret asks. “I like it, and I know Ruby does, too. She’s always smiling when it comes up.”

“Of course she does.” Emma shakes her head. Giving the stack of coupons a final pat, she turns for the door. “Well, it looks like my work here is done, so…”

“Are you sure?” She can feel Mary Margaret’s big doe eyes boring into her back. “All right, maybe not for Regina, but what about for yourself? You know, the right scent can really liven up a room!”

Emma can't help but picture her apartment, which needs all the livening up it can get. A touch of cinnamon or lilac really would help offset the mildew. She turns back to the counter with a groan.

“What do you have that’s on sale?”

-

❅

-

“Cannae go wrong with a guid weapon,” says Merida, nodding toward a nearby rack of bows. “Then again, I’ve heard yer bonnie lass is th’ snappish type, so maybe nae.”

Emma blinks at the redheaded saleswoman. “Thanks, but I didn’t come for advice. I’m actually here about the—”

“Ye’ve been searchin’ for a gift for the auld lady, haven't’cha?”

With a groan, Emma lets her head fall back. “Does _everyone_ know about that?” She stiffens, eyes widening. “Does Regina?”

“Oh, nae. Proobably nae.”

“ _Probably_?”

Undeterred, Merida flourishes one hand toward the glass case between them. “What aboot a knife,” she suggests. “Some verra bonnie pieces just in for th’ holiday season. DunBroch Outfitters originals. Bonnie and dangerous—just like yer lass.”

Emma shakes her head, then hesitates. The only place Regina uses knives is in the kitchen, and she already has more of those than Emma can name. But she does still need a present for Mulan…

“Oy!” A bellow rings through Merida’s shop. “You! Scurvy wench!”

Oh, right. The noise complaints. She knew she was forgetting something. Emma turns to see a man looming in the doorway, black beard vibrating with rage. Merida is already storming past to confront the intruder herself.

“I’m warnin’ you, Teach! Nae another step!” As she passes, she snatches up a bow from the rack. It’s unstrung, but still makes Teach lean back when she swishes it beneath his nose.

“I’ll step where I please, bucko! _I_ warned _ye_ about hawking fishhooks, ye landlubber. Them’s me business!” Teach jerks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing across the way to a store labelled _Queen Anne’s Nautical Necessities_.

“Hey!” Emma shouts to be heard over the dueling brogues. “ _Calm down_ , both of you!”

Teach seems to notice her for the first time. “Officer Swan!” he greets. “Looking for a present for the queen, are ye? Well, ye won't find it _here_. Me business is runnin’ a varry fine promotion on fishin’ supplies—”

“Aa'll shaw ye wherr tae stick yer business, ye stoatin’ dobber,” scoffs Merida, accent swelling along with her fury. She’s strung her bow sometime in the minute Emma was distracted, and Emma dives to put herself between the redhead and a shelf of arrows. “It's nae mah fault yer gear is jobby.”

Teach has backed out of the store, but he still scowls at his rival, brandishing a kayak oar produced from thin air. “Arrr, how dare ye! Me products be of the highest quality! Plain an’ simple, none of yer fancy-schmancy ‘engravings’ or ‘safety measures’—”

“Jobby fishhooks, shite prices—”

“—bloody ridiculous _electric fishing reels—_ ”

“Ach!” Merida scoffs.

“Yarrr!” Teach snarls.

“Fucking hell,” Emma sighs. This is what she gets for coming in on a Saturday.

-

❅

-

“Discriminatory is what it is.”

“I know, Granny.”

“Downright prejudiced. You know, your grandfather was a cross-dresser, and I’d like to see the fool who’d try to stop _him_.” Granny huffs from the kitchen window. “Things have really gone downhill in this day and age.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, Granny.”

Emma watches the exchange in silence, waiting for Ruby to finish her shift. As a fun bonus, she’s also treated to Granny’s latest conspiracy theory on why she was denied the position of mall Santa. Emma’s not sure if this is any better than the day’s barrage of unsolicited gift-giving advice, but at least it’s different.

“Emma!” Granny booms, peering at the blonde over her—admittedly very Santa-esque—spectacles. “You think you can put in a good word with your sugar mama?”

“My—” Emma shakes her head with a snort. “Nope, sorry. No can do, Granny.” She laughs, but it’s forced; she doesn’t make _that_ much less than Regina.

Okay, fine, she does, but it’s not like it’s ever been an issue. She pulls her own weight, always has. It’s just that… with their first Christmas coming up, she’s been feeling the pressure, okay? Despite what the entire mall seems to think, she doesn’t need any more reminders. She already _knows_ she can't fuck this up.

“And why not?” demands Granny. “Too good for us common folk now that you’re living the high life?”

This time she just takes a page from Ruby’s playbook and rolls her eyes. If Granny had ever seen her apartment, “high life” are not the words she’d use. “That’s definitely not it.”

Granny nods sagely. “I get it. Mills wears the pants in your relationship.”

For a moment, Emma considers objecting, but with Ruby finally clocking out, escape is in sight. She decides to keep her mouth shut.

“Maybe you can butter her up,” muses Granny. “You’re still looking for a present, right? In my experience, the fastest way to anyone’s heart is—”

“Let me guess,” Ruby snorts, hooking an arm through Emma’s to drag her away. “Pie? Lasagna?”

“No,” Granny calls after them. “Lingerie!”

-

❅

-

“Sorry,” says Mulan, eyes not leaving her cards. “Can't help you. Belle’s always been easy.”

Ruby opens her mouth.

“To _shop for_.”

Ruby closes her mouth. Cheek propped on one hand, the brunette plays with her hair, cards facedown and forgotten on the table. “Books?” she guesses.

“Sometimes, but not as much as you’d think.” Mulan smiles, as she always does when speaking of Belle. “She owns a bookshop, you know. It’s hard to find something she likes and hasn’t already read, annotated, and compiled a list of recommendations for.”

Emma nods. “So what’s your go-to?” she prods, then adds, “Got any fours?”

“Go fish.” Mulan shrugs. “Gardening stuff. Craft supplies. For her last birthday, I got her a chess set and a new pair of hiking boots. Any jacks?” she asks Graham.

“Aye,” he sighs, flicking a card across the table. “A good gift. Quality boots are always worth the investment. Have any nines?” he asks Ruby.

“Yes,” she groans. “Mulan, you’re dating a senior citizen,”

“Mulan _is_ a senior citizen,” Emma snickers.

“Is this all you guys talk about?” asks Henry, lowering his uneven fan of cards. “Why are grown-ups always so boring?”

“Boring?” says Ruby.

Mulan just shakes her head. “You’re almost eleven, Mister Mills. It’s all downhill from here.”

“ _Boring_?” squawks Ruby.

The boy shrugs before turning to Emma, squinting ferociously. “Do you have any… threes?”

“Darn,” she groans, eyes dropping to the trio of threes in her hand. “How did you—”

A warm hand cups the back of her neck, and Emma feels the knot between her shoulders start to unwind. The day’s tension melts away as Regina chuckles, stepping away with a final squeeze.

“Cheater.” Emma lets her head fall back, flashing her girlfriend an upside-down grin. “Shame on you. What kind of example are you setting for the kid?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Regina’s eyes dance as she walks around the table, stopping beside Henry to fix his collar. She nods to the table’s other occupants. “Sergeant Hua, Officer Humbert. Ruby.”

“Ma’am,” Mulan and Graham greet in unison.

“How’s it hanging, _Regina_?” says Ruby. She’s very proud of her first-name privileges, only recently acquired after months of hounding.

Regina accepts this with a twitch of her lips. “Quite well, thank you. Are you ready to go, dear?”

“Yes,” Emma answers absently.

“… Yes,” Henry says a moment later, and she feels herself flush.

“Gag,” Ruby mutters, earning herself an elbow from Mulan.

Though Emma’s cheeks must be even redder than the lights strung up around the security office, Regina just smiles. “All right,” she hums, plucking Emma’s jacket from the next chair and holding it out. “Come along, dears.”

As she shrugs into the coat, Emma hears Ruby grumble, “I should have saved my gag.” And then, louder, “ _Boring._ Mulan, tell me I’m not boring.”

“Have a nice evening, Miss Mills,” says Mulan, getting to her feet.

“Mulan?”

“Goodnight, Henry. See you tomorrow, Emma.”

“ _Mulan_.”

“I think you’re very interesting.”

“Don’t encourage her, Graham.” Mulan walks to her desk, staggering slightly thanks to the pouting Ruby hanging off her shoulders. “You and Lance are on night shift, right? I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a final nod to her friends, Emma follows Henry out the door, a plaintive whine dogging her heels.

“ _Mulaaaaan_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be 12 days long, until I remembered/realized that the 12 days of Christmas actually start on Christmas. Go figure. So I cut it down to 10, partly because that's a nice round number and partly because that's how many days were actually left before Christmas, so I didn't really have much of a choice.


	2. T-Minus 9 Days

“Who’d you get for security secret Santa?”

Mulan shoots Emma a sharp look. “You know I can't tell you that.”

“Because of the rules, or because it’s me?”

“Nice try,” Mulan mutters. “Still not telling.”

They finish up their patrol in silence. Before long, they're making their way back toward the security office. The mall is near empty this close to closing time, their only company the Christmas music perpetually piped through the mall’s PA. Then, when the two of them are halfway across the central court, something flashes in the corner of Emma’s eye. Something big and round and red. But when she turns, the plaza is empty. She frowns.

“Hey, Mulan?”

“Mm,” her partner grunts.

“If it’s not Granny, who _is_ the mall Santa this year?”

Mulan thinks for a moment. “Not sure. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” says Emma, looking over her shoulder. She’s being paranoid, that’s all. It was probably just a store window display or a stray poster or something else that she’d seen. It must have been. Why would the mall Santa even be here this late?

By the time they reach the security office, she’s forgotten all about it.

“—holiday plans?” Mulan asks, fishing for her keys. “I’m guessing you’ll be with Regina and Henry.”

Emma bobbles her head. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I mean, she hasn’t said anything. Just keeps talking about a quiet Christmas. Only family.” She grimaces. “Dunno what that means.”

Mulan gives her a pitying look. “Don’t you?”

She shrugs. “I just hope it doesn’t mean her mother is visiting.”

“I met her mother once,” muses Mulan. “Cora.”

“Uh huh.” Emma nods. “And she was… nice?” she asks without much hope. She has yet to meet Regina’s mother in person, but from the way her daughter talks…

“She almost set me on fire.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“She said it was an accident, but…” Mulan shakes her head as she unlocks the door to their office. “That’s not the point. Look, Emma, all this worrying about Regina and Christmas; you might be overthinking—”

Fortunately, something cuts her off, rescuing Emma from a conversation growing more awkward by the second. Unfortunately, that something is the snake that falls on their heads. It hisses, bright red scales brushing Emma’s cheek as it flops back and forth.

Like any sane person, Emma jumps, swears, and dives away.

Like the freakish automaton that she is, Mulan just stands there, blinking at the reptile now draped over her shoulders.

“Who’s boring now, bitches!”

Emma looks up. “ _Ruby_ ,” she groans. “How did you even get in here?”

“Oh, please. I copied a key months ago.”

Mulan looks up. “And how did you get duct taped to the ceiling?”

“Graham and Lance helped.” Ruby sags in her homemade harness. “You could at least _pretend_ to be scared. Shit, maybe I am boring.”

“No,” Emma says, clambering to her feet. “Mulan’s just insane.”

“It’s only a milk snake,” scoffs Mulan. “They’re harmless.” She tickles the reptile under the chin, smiling as it winds around her arm. “I think I’ll call him Mushu.”

“Insane,” Emma repeats.

Ruby nods. “Totally bonkers.” The web of duct tape creaks, and her eyes go wide. “Now get me down, you nutjob.”

-

❅

-

These days, Emma spends almost as many nights at Regina’s place as she does at her own. This is not a surprise. Even if her apartment hadn't been the leaky shoebox that it is, Regina’s house would still be infinitely more appealing due to having, well, Regina in it.

“Shoes!” Emma smiles at the order barked from the kitchen, catching Henry by the back of his jacket before the boy can dash upstairs.

“I was gonna,” he mutters as she hauls him backward. Emma flicks her eyes down at his shoes, which are still firmly double-knotted onto his feet.

“Sure you were.”

Once they’re both unshod, Henry heads for his room while she makes for the kitchen, lured by the drifting smells and the rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables.

“I see the lemon survived another trip,” is what greets her. The chopping pauses for a split second as Regina glances up with a smile.

“Sure did.” Emma grins back. “And many more to come.”

“Now _that_ , I doubt.”

“No you don’t. If you did, you’d never let Henry ride with me.” She drops a kiss on Regina’s neck before nudging her away from the chopping board and holding a hand out for the knife. Emma’s cooking skills are largely microwave-based, but she can manage a few peppers.

With a murmur of thanks, Regina moves off toward the stove. She only left the mall half an hour ahead of Emma and Henry, but there are already pots on all four burners, slowly simmering under her supervision.

“I mean, neither would I,” Emma goes on, starting to chop. Her strokes aren’t nearly as smooth as Regina’s, but they get the job done. “If the Bug was really the deathtrap you say it is, I wouldn’t be driving it.” Well, not with Henry in it, anyway. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

En route to the spice rack, Regina pauses just long enough to stroke a reassuring hand down Emma’s arm. “I never said you were,” she says. “I have utter faith in your judgement.”

They both fall silent. Emma’s not sure about Regina, but she’s remembering that time last week when she and Ruby convinced Mulan to let them put antlers and a light-up nose on one of the goats from the mall petting zoo and harness it to a shopping cart.

“When it comes to Henry,” Regina amends, clearly thinking along the same lines.

“Thanks,” says Emma. “Really. You know it means…” _Everything_ , she thinks. Before Regina and Henry, no one had ever trusted her with anything more valuable than a sandwich, let alone a _child_. And Regina’s not like some of the mothers she’s known; no, Regina loves her son, cherishes him beyond measure, would never leave his care to anyone she didn’t trust just as much.

That trust is something Emma takes very seriously.

“It means a lot,” is what she says out loud. Something of her deeper thoughts must leak through, because when Emma turns, she finds Regina gazing at her with eyes that send a warm, full feeling blooming in her chest. It’s a _good_ feeling, but not a familiar one, and she feels the sudden urge to laugh.

So she does, a shrill, nervous wheeze that makes her girlfriend blink. “Aaanyway,” Emma bleats. “I’m doing my best. I still can't believe you let him sleep at my apartment.”

It’s not like her apartment is a complete shithole, except… honestly, it sort of is. When she’d gotten the job at Storybrooke Mall, she was half expecting to be fired within the week, so she put the bare minimum of effort into choosing a place. By the time she realized she wasn't being canned, by the time she found herself growing roots against all odds, she was stuck with the leaky shoebox.

Regina and Henry don’t stay there often, but it has happened. They visit about once a week, even sleep over sometimes—mostly, Emma presumes, at Henry’s insistence. The kid loves her place, which _would_ be reassuring, except Emma has a suspicion he loves it in the same way he loves the dollar store, or camping—a fun novelty, as long as you know you don’t _have_ to be there.

Regina… isn't much of a camper.

She stares at Emma for a long moment, lips pursed, then murmurs, “Emma, there’s nothing wrong with your apartment.”

Emma gives that statement the slightly hysterical laugh it deserves.

“All right, yes, there are many things wrong with your apartment,” her girlfriend chuckles, shaking her head. “But there’s nothing wrong with _you_ having it. You don’t need to be ashamed.”

And Emma had really been hoping it wasn’t so obvious, but it turns out Regina isn't a complete idiot either. “I’m not _ashamed_ ,” she mumbles. “It’s just…” Losing the words, she just waves her hands at Regina’s fancy kitchen, in Regina’s enormous house, in Regina’s neighborhood on the nice side of town where you can leave your bicycle out without even unscrewing the seat.

Regina’s lips press into a thin line. “Emma,” she says after a moment. “There’s nothing for you to—” She pauses, clearly picking out her next words with care. “For you to worry about. We’re just… at slightly different places in our lives,” she says.

Which is always a terrifying thing to hear from your girlfriend, even for someone as emotionally stable and abandonment-issue-free as Emma Swan. She feels the urge to laugh again, and stomps on it. Hard.

Naturally, Regina still notices her flinch. “Oh!” she huffs out a startled laugh of her own, and Emma lets herself relax, just a little. “No, Emma. Nothing like that,” she soothes. “Different places in our careers, I should have said. I’m perfectly happy with how our personal lives are going.” Her smile turns playful. “As you well know.”

Relief washes over Emma, and she cracks a smile of her own before turning back to her peppers. Nothing’s wrong. She’s just overreacting, another spurt of pre-Christmas nerves. She—Regina—they— _everything_ is fine.

Except…

What exactly did Regina mean about their careers?


	3. T-Minus 8 Days

“It’s probably nothing,” Mulan says.

“It sounded like something,” Emma mutters halfheartedly. Talking out her feelings is not one of Emma Swan’s greatest strengths. Then again, maybe that’s because she’s rarely had people to talk them out with. But now she has Mulan, and what’s the point of having friends if you don’t pester them with your insecurities?

The more they talk about it, though, the less serious it feels. Regina’s words may have seemed ominous last night, but here amongst the comfortable chaos of the mall at midday, surrounded by frantic shoppers and the festive tones of Mariah Carey, Emma feels a bit foolish about the whole thing. After all, the rest of the night had gone as usual, normal in the best way. By now, she’s convinced herself that she was just being paranoid.

Mostly.

“Although…” Mulan’s pause does nothing to help the paranoia.

“What?” Emma demands.

“You’re a security guard,” says Mulan.

Emma scowls. “So are you!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Mulan’s words are patient. “I’m only saying that you’re fairly low-level, while Regina is at the top of her profession.”

“Oh yeah, that’s _much_ better.” Emma’s scowl turns mutinous. “Just because _you_ got promoted last month…”

Mulan gives her a look. “I _meant_ that you can still move up,” she explains. “Regina, on the other hand, is likely as far as she can go.”

Well that sounds a _little_ better. “Okay,” Emma says, mulling this over. “I guess that makes sense.”

Lost in thought, she continues to patrol for several paces before realizing her partner is no longer at her side. She looks back just in time to see Mulan reach behind a nearby pillar and drag out a man with olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair. He holds a camera in flailing hands, trench coat flapping as he tries in vain to jerk free.

“Sidney,” sighs Mulan. “Are you bothering the customers again?”

“No!” he snaps. “Now let me go, you’re blowing my cover.”

“Who’s cheating on who this time?” Emma asks. Though Magic Mirror Investigations claims to be an all-purpose detective service, Sidney’s clientele is about ninety percent jealous spouses.

Mulan loosens her grip, and the private eye adjusts his coat, tipping down his fedora to shadow his face. It being broad daylight, the disguise doesn’t really make him any less conspicuous. “Over there,” he whispers, pointing with his chin. “No, don’t _turn_!” He always did take this cloak-and-dagger stuff far too seriously. “The blonde at five o’clock.”

“Kathryn?” Emma feels her eyebrows lift. “I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone.”

“That’s the issue,” says Sidney. “Her father thinks she is, behind his back.”

Mulan doesn’t look impressed. “Is that really his business?”

Sidney shrugs. “Maybe not, but I already spent his advance, which makes it _my_ business.”

“And how does Regina feel about you snooping after her friend?”

He glances up from his camera to give Emma a sour look. Sidney hates being reminded of her relationship with Regina, which is why she mentions her girlfriend as often as she can. “She won't begrudge me doing my job,” he sniffs. “She has excellent judgement.” Another dirty look. “ _Most_ of the time.”

“That’s enough, you two.” Mulan says. “Sidney, be careful where you point that camera. The mall doesn’t need another lawsuit.”

His cheeks flush a defensive purple. “I was _tailing a mark_! I didn’t even realize I was near the changing rooms!”

“And you’re very lucky the judge believed you.”

“I sure wouldn’t have,” is Emma’s input.

“ _Enough_ , Emma. Just be careful,” Mulan repeats as she nudges Emma into motion. With a final insincere smile for Sidney, she lets herself be led away.

“Give my best to Regina,” he calls after them.

“Not a chance!” Emma calls back.

-

❅

-

“Pretty sure I’m not going to find a present here.”

Emma wrinkles her nose as she follows Mulan through the pet store. The place doesn’t actually smell of pets, but only because the owners are very obviously using some kind of perfume to cover the animals up. She’s not really sure that it’s an improvement.

“Never said you would,” Mulan retorts. “Not everything’s about your drama.” Mushu pokes his head out the collar of her jacket to hiss his agreement.

Wounded, Emma glares at the snake. “Whatever. I can't believe you kept it.”

“ _Him_ ,” corrects Mulan. “I couldn’t leave him with Ruby. He was living in a laundry basket.”

“And that’s… bad?”

Mulan gives her a critical look, pausing before a cage full of mice. “Snakes need to be kept warm,” she states. “Didn’t you notice how lethargic he was yesterday?”

“You mean when Ruby dropped him on our heads?” Emma watches the subject of their conversation stare hungrily at the mice. Mushu _does_ seem more lively than before, but… “Do you _have_ to keep him in your jacket?”

“Just until I get a proper terrarium,” defends Mulan, then marches off to do just that.

Abandoned, Emma wanders through the aisles, eventually finding herself before a fenced-in corner occupied by half a dozen puppies. Their natural energy goes up several notches at her arrival, furry bodies crowding against the fence as she dangles a hand inside. The dogs’ genuine delight makes her grin, and for a moment, she considers…

No. No, a puppy is _way_ too much. Regina already has enough on her plate, and a dog is a ton of work. At least, that’s what Emma’s been told. She’s never had any kind of pet herself, though like most kids she went through a phase of longing for one. Her foster parents at the time didn't hesitate to tell her what they thought about _that_.

 _Too much work_ , they said. _Too much responsibility_. Too much _trouble_ to be worth the effort.

Come to think of it, she’d been sent back to the group home not long after.

Anyway, from her limited experience, Emma’s always been good with dogs. Graham’s wolfhounds seem to love her, and for a few months when she was eight, she was neighbors with a massive, drooly mastiff. The dog had been the only one upset when she was inevitably sent away, howling and chasing after the car while yet another foster family waved goodbye from the curb.

Emma blinks, and realizes she’s been glaring silently at the puppies for several minutes. Sighing through her nose, she drops into a squat, one arm still hooked over the fence. The lively dogs hop up to lick at her fingers, but she ignores them, attention suddenly captured by the puppy in the corner, almost hidden behind the picture-perfect miniature doghouse.

It’s shaggier than the others, less… shiny. She knows nothing about breeds, but it doesn’t look like a purebred anything, with bowed legs and mud-colored fur and a wildly oversized nose.

It’s a little larger, too—older, maybe?—its proportions rapidly moving away from adorable and into the realm of adolescent awkwardness that transcends species.

It’s shy, or maybe just cautious, not bothering to make a play for attention. Almost as if it knows its chances of adoption are slim to none, that there’s no _point_ in—

Emma shakes herself and shoves to her feet. Projection, much? Like Regina’s words, she’s majorly overthinking it. She blames this fucking holiday season. With a final look at the lonely pup, she dusts off her hands and turns back to the front of the store—where a white-bearded figure is staring at her through the glass.

She jumps, swearing under her breath as the mall Santa watches her with unblinking eyes. Frantically, she searches his face for familiar features, but between the fluffy beard and gold-rimmed spectacles, not much is visible but a strip of ethnically ambiguous skin.

“Language,” Mulan chides as she approaches. “This is a family store. Honestly, Emma, I leave you alone for five minutes—”

“Do you see that?” she spins toward her friend, jerking a finger toward the front window. “Tell me you see it.”

Mulan turns. Looks. Narrows her eyes. “Oh, no,” she murmurs.

Emma tries not to sag in relief.

“What’s she doing this time?”

Wait, _she_? When Emma looks back, there’s no red-suited stalker in sight. Instead, there’s only Ruby trotting down the concourse. She’s moving with purpose, which is never a good sign, and her arms are loaded with pool toys and a tank of helium, which is worse. Emma drags a hand across her eyes.

“No, that’s not what I—”

“One of us should probably go after her,” sighs Mulan, already holding out a fist. “The usual?”

Still staring out the window, Emma manages a nod. “Sure.” She holds out a hand to match her partner’s. “Rock, paper, scissors…”

They throw out their choices, and Emma feels herself groan.

“How do you always win?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulan always wins at rock-paper-scissors because she's observant and dedicated enough to study her opponents and predict their moves based on a variety of nigh-imperceptible factors.
> 
> Also, for some reason Emma always picks scissors.


	4. T-Minus 7 Days

“A little late for Christmas shopping.”

Regina jumps at Emma’s sudden appearance, drawing a grin from the blonde as she sidles up beside her. She almost never gets the drop on her girlfriend, so she has to savor it when she does. It’s always a treat to see Regina looking anything less than perfect, especially at the mall, where she wears her elegance like armor.

Sure enough, the surprise fades fast, already gone when Regina turns to face her. With nothing on her face but the usual fond exasperation, she leans in for a quick kiss that Emma is only too happy to deliver.

“Not here for me, are you?” she asks when they part, turning to scan the shelf of toys behind Regina. “I’m getting a little old for action figures. There’re some Nerf guns a few aisles over, though…”

“Oh, Emma,” sighs Regina, leaning into her side. “I don’t think so.”

“So you already got mine?” Of course she did. Regina is never anything less than prepared.

“Stop fishing.” Regina mock-glares as she pulls away, though one arm stays looped through Emma’s. “I’m here for Henry. He just submitted his finalized wish list.”

“Oh yeah.” Emma is familiar with the wish list. A copy was slid under the door of the security office this morning. It’s quite the orderly little document, printed on official Mills family letterhead and signed at the bottom in wobbly cursive. Items had been helpfully labelled _(Mom)_ or _(Emma)_ or for the real big-ticket stuff, _(Santa)_. The kid truly has a firm grasp on the spirit of the holiday season. Probably around the neck.

“I wish he’d made up his mind earlier,” Regina sighs. “He changes interests so quickly these days; I didn’t want to get the wrong thing.”

“That’s on you,” says Emma. “Should’ve given him a deadline.”

“I did. He applied for an extension.”

Emma can't help but laugh. “Can't go wrong with books,” she says. At least, she hopes so. With Belle’s help, she found a rare series of middle-grade adventure novels that Henry hasn’t already devoured—and hardcovers, too, so they hadn't been cheap.

“True.” Regina’s teeth dent her lower lip, and Emma feels herself sway forward on her toes. Sadly, her girlfriend’s next words throw a damper over any indecent intentions. “I hope you don’t feel obligated,” she murmurs. “I completely understand if it’s too much. Henry means well, but I may be a touch guilty of… spoiling him.” These last words are forced out through gritted teeth, Regina always loath to admit wrongdoing when it comes to her son.

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma assures her, managing to keep up her easy smile. It doesn’t sting, not exactly, but the implication that a few more gifts for her favorite ten-year-old would be _too much_ for her budget isn't exactly flattering. “I already got him a few books, and I can grab a few more off the list.”

She made lists like Henry’s when she was a kid, but only until she was four. That was the year she was dumped back into the foster system for the first time, the year she realized she had nothing more to look forward to than cheap donations and even cheaper hand-me-downs. To be fair, Christmas donations tended to be better than the rest of the year’s, in that they lasted a little longer before falling apart. They still fell apart in the end, though.

Emma didn't mind the sticky toys or the unravelling clothes, not really. What she minded was the knowledge that there were kids out there who _did_ get what they asked for. Little girls and boys just like her except for the tiny detail that they had people who cared enough to read the lists they wrote. People who didn’t stop caring because they had a baby of their own now and oh, sorry three-year-old Emma, you’re shit out of luck, have a nice life.

Being named on Henry’s wish list means more than the kid can know.

She hesitates, then offers, “I can let you know which ones I’m getting. Just so we don’t, you know, overlap?”

Regina’s smile is bemused at first, but soon broadens. “Very good thinking, Miss Swan,” she purrs. “I’d like that, yes.”

 _Right_. Responsibility has always been one of Regina’s turn-ons, but Emma is so rarely responsible that she’d almost forgotten. She grins, sidling closer. Maybe a little indecency isn’t _entirely_ off the table.

Then someone clears their throat, a pack of children scamper past, and Emma remembers that they’re in the middle of a store—a _toy_ store. In broad daylight. She looks over her shoulder to see Marco watching from the registers, the look on his bearded face equal parts stern and indulgent.

When she turns back to Regina, her girlfriend reads her disappointment as easily as one of Henry’s books. Her eyes are downright mischievous as she brushes past, pressing much, _much_ closer than necessary.

“Until this evening, Officer Swan.”

-

❅

-

“Nope.”

“Come on, kid. Just a hint.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Please?”

“Mom told me not to say anything.”

Oh, so _now_ Henry decides to listen to his mother. Not when she tells him to stay in the store and not follow Emma around the mall. Not when she tells him to help Emma hang the Christmas lights around her enormous fucking house. But _now_ , when she tells him to keep Emma’s present a secret even though she’ll just find out in a week anyway.

Emma lets her chin drop back to the carpet, rolling one of Henry’s Hot Wheels under one finger. Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t know what Regina got her. Probably something perfect and expensive and way better than any of Emma’s half-baked ideas.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Then you can at least help me think of something good.”

Henry tips his head on one side, studying her. “You don’t have much time,” he points out.

“Really? Gee, I hadn't noticed,” Emma says into the carpet.

“Christmas is in a week,” Henry informs her, the sarcasm soaring clean over his head. “But you really only have five days, because today’s almost over and you’ll be here with us all day before Christmas Eve.”

She pushes up onto her elbows. “I will?”

“Duh,” he says.

“Anyway, I’ve still got a week—”

“Five days,” corrects Henry.

“—and I work at a _mall_ ,” Emma goes on, ignoring him. “I can buy pretty much anything, I just need to _think_ of something. You know your mom. What does she like?”

He wrinkles his nose. “She likes you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” She reaches out to pat his ankle. “But also, frickin’ useless. Get your head in the game, kid.”

They sit—well, lie, in Emma’s case—in silence for almost a minute before Henry’s face lights up. “You could give her your hair,” he suggests.

“What?”

“We read about it in school. You should cut off your hair and… and make it into something.” The boy sounds less sure by the word. “Something for Mom’s… watch?”

Emma rolls onto her back, winces, fishes a Lego guy out from under her ass, and stares up at the ceiling. “Tempting,” she says. “But your mom doesn’t wear watches. Plus, I think you might be remembering that story wrong.”

Henry shrugs.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of reading genius,” she teases. He glares back, outrage in his eyes.

“Not when it’s _boring_ ,” he retorts. “And school reading is always boring. There’s never any curses. Or dragons.”

“Point to Henry,” concedes Emma. “You know, when I was bored, I always liked to color in all the letters with my pencil. That can fill up a whole class if you take your time.”

“Please stop giving my son pointers on how not to pay attention.” Regina’s dry tones echo through the family room. “Henry, it’s almost time for dinner. Go wash up.”

“Okay.” He clambers to his feet, then pauses. “Mom, tell Emma she’ll be with us for Christmas.”

Emma hides a cringe as she sits up, meeting Regina’s baffled expression. “I didn’t tell him to ask you that,” she’s quick to say. She doesn’t want Regina to think she’s angling for an invite, or worse, to extend one out of _pity_. “We were just talking—”

“Of course you’ll be here.” There’s an odd expression on her girlfriend’s face, but she sounds sincere enough. “If you’d like, that is. I thought I made that clear.” Something flickers across her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning down. “Didn’t I?”

Emma gives a helpless flop of her hand. “I didn’t want to assume. You just kept talking about a family holiday…”

“And what did you think that meant?”

“I dunno. Maybe your mother coming to visit?”

This only makes Regina frown deeper, leaving Henry to fill in the blanks. “Abuela never spends the holidays with us,” he says. “She only sends cards.”

“And we’re all very thankful for that,” Emma hears Regina mutter, almost out of earshot. She smiles, but the expression flees when her girlfriend turns back to her, brows in a thunderous line. “Let me get this straight,” she says, voice cool. “You thought you weren’t invited.”

In response, Emma can only manage a sort of noncommittal shrug-nod. Why does she suddenly feel like she’s on thin ice?

“And that was just perfectly fine with you?” Regina’s hands are hidden behind her back, but the muscles shifting in her forearms tell Emma that she’s twisting her fingers together. More evidence for the thin ice theory. “What were your plans, then?”

“I… dunno,” repeats Emma, mind blanking. “Probably visit Ruby and Granny with Mulan, same as last year.”

“I see.”

Without another word, Regina turns and exits the room.

“What?” Emma asks the empty air. “What did I say?”

When she turns to Henry, all she gets is a sad shake of the head. “Oh, Emma,” he says, sounding just like his mother.

“What did I _say_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Emma. I'm sure you'll find your way out of that hole if you just keep digging.


	5. T-Minus  ̶6̶ 5 Days

“Oh, Emma,” sighs Ruby.

“Come on,” she groans. “You can't judge me, you’re literally covered in paint.”

“Not _covered_ ,” objects her friend. “I wiped most of it off. Thanks for getting my back, by the way.”

Emma gives her a grudging nod. “No problem.”

“You missed a spot, though.” Ruby takes an awkward crab-step, tugging at her jeans. “I can feel it dripping right down into my—”

“On your own with that one, Rubes.” She glances sideways at the other woman, momentarily forgetting her own disaster of a life. Ruby’s paint-related mishap is the fallout of an interrupted prank, only the latest in a string of shenanigans. The antics had started with Mushu and show no signs of slowing down; in fact, they seem to be getting bigger. Emma and Mulan have done their best to stop her, with… mixed success.

Yesterday they only caught her after she inflated the bouncy castle in the atrium. Mister Gold hadn't been pleased.

“Seriously, what is up with you lately?” Emma probes. “You usually take longer breaks between…”

“Displays of impish mischief?” Ruby suggests.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Emma’s always down for a good prank, but even she thinks Ruby’s been going a bit overboard. Her friend has been displaying her impish mischief at least once a day since… Emma feels herself frown.

“Is this all because Henry called you boring? He’s _ten_. He calls me lame at least twice a week.”

“Can you blame him? You’re a mess.” Ruby sighs, stopping in her tracks. “And it’s not _just_ that. I’m…” She pauses to consider her words, which is unusual and more than a little alarming. Sadly, before Ruby can collect her thoughts, Emma’s attention is diverted by a most unwelcome sight.

“Hold that thought,” she says with an apologetic grimace. “I’ve gotta take care of something. Be right back!”

“Something” is the unauthorized pop-up stall in the central court. The mall gets them every so often, rogue vendors sneaking in their merchandise to hawk amongst the other kiosks. The owners tend to be either sleazy salesmen with gadgets bound to stop working within a few days, or eager hippies with all-natural homemade goods that seem an awful lot like the stuff from Bed Bath & Beyond. This one looks like a blend of both, blue eyes and wavy hair failing to hide her predatory grin.

The lady looks up at Emma’s arrival, toothy smile barely flickering at the sight of her uniform. “Officer!” she greets in accented tones. “Care for a scented candle?”

“No thanks.” Emma answers absently, busy considering how best to get rid of her. Sometimes the gatecrashers leave quietly, but all too often they make a scene. This one looks like she’ll make a scene.

Undeterred, the candle lady launches into a pitch involving herb-infused wax and essential oils in the wicks, chattering on until Emma raises a hand to cut her off.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she says. The stranger doesn’t budge, eyes twinkling as she stares Emma down.

“Ask away, but I don’t think I shall.”

“This one smells like glue!” Ruby appears around the side of the stall, sounding thrilled at her discovery. “How much?”

“You have an excellent nose,” praises the rogue vendor, bustling around to her cash register. “That scent is one of my newest concoctions. Very reasonably priced, only—”

Emma clears her throat. “Please,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m asking nicely.”

The woman doesn’t even look her way. “Bully for you.”

She doesn’t have time for this. Setting her jaw, Emma grabs the handle on one side of the candle cart and starts to drag it toward the exit. Two of its legs have wheels, but the others screech against the tile, drawing winces and curious looks from everyone in earshot. The stall’s owner screeches even louder, clinging onto the other side and planting her feet. It doesn’t do much—Emma outmuscles her, and it turns out bohemian winter sandals don’t provide much grip.

True to form, Ruby watches the scene with glee instead of, say, going to find help. Not that it would have made a difference, because backup arrives before Emma drags the cart more than a few feet.

“Officer Swan.” After the cold shoulder of yesterday evening, even Regina’s irritation is music to Emma’s ears.

“Regina!” She can't help but send a look of triumph at her foe. Oh, she’s in for it now. “A little help?”

“Help? With what? You seem to have this well in hand.”

Oh, so it’s like that. Emma opens her mouth, but her girlfriend is already turning to the candle lady. “And _you_. No, don’t give me that look. I gave you that permit for a reason. Must you always insist on causing a scene?”

“Tosh,” scoffs the taller woman. “I had no choice. How else was I supposed to meet your new gal?”

“ _Any other way_.”

They scowl at each other with the contempt bred of familiarity, and Emma feels a familiar sinking feeling in her gut.

Meanwhile, Ruby tries to creep away, but she can’t escape Regina’s scorn. “Miss Lucas,” she snaps, drawing a groan at the loss of first-name privileges, “I know for a fact you two have met before, and yet you did nothing to stop this. Why?”

“Impish mischief?” Ruby tries.

When Regina’s attention circles back around to her, Emma is relieved to see that her gaze has softened. Slightly. “Emma—”

“Sorry, I should’ve known,” she says before Regina can start lecturing. “Candles, of course. Is this a Mary Margaret thing?” She attempts a chuckle, waving a hand toward the shop of Regina’s naïve nemesis.

Guilt passes across Regina’s face, but only for an instant. “Not… entirely.” She steps back. “Emma, meet my sister. Zelena.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Zelena beams, wicked glee dancing in her eyes, but all Emma can think is:

_Again?_

-

❅

-

“Yup, sounds like Zelena,” says Belle, voice fond.

Emma doesn’t share her amusement. She grimaces, the memory of the misunderstanding making her ears burn as she peers out the window of Belle’s Books. Regina’s department store is just across the way, a snowy display visible at the entrance.

The manager herself is nowhere to be seen, probably still busy berating her sister. Emma hadn’t stayed to watch, instead retreating to Belle’s shop to lick her metaphorical wounds in private. She’s not sure where Ruby disappeared to, but hopefully she’s staying out of trouble.

“Here.” Belle appears at her elbow to push a mug into her hands. “You look like you could use some cheering up.”

Her fingers curl around the cup, relishing the heat. “Tea?”

“No, cocoa.” Her host has already disappeared back into the thicket of bookshelves that fill her store. “By the way, I found those books you asked about. For Henry, I assume?”

“Yeah.” Emma takes a sip. A moment later, she’s coughing, eyebrows halfway up her scalp. “God, is that… _tequila_?”

“A _lot_ of cheering up,” Belle confirms. “Don’t tell Mulan.”

“You’re a saint, Belle.” Cocoa warming her in more ways than one, Emma turns away from the window and follows Belle to the counter. “It just feels like I’m fucking everything up these days. I _know_ I’ve got a good thing going with Regina, but it’s like I can't stop myself.”

The brunette props her chin on one hand, elbow resting on the neat stack of Henry’s novels. “It’s not your first holiday with Regina,” she points out. “What makes this so much worse than… I don’t know, Valentine’s day?”

Emma considers this. “I guess… Valentine’s was just about me and Regina. That, I can handle.” Well, more or less. “ _This_ is different. With Henry and presents and Christmas Eve and…”

“Family?” Belle suggests.

“That’s—” She sighs. “Yeah, maybe. Apparently, I’m part of Regina’s now.”

Belle gasps.

“Not like that!” Emma laughs at the thought. It comes out a little panicky, which her friend doesn’t miss.

“Is something wrong between you two?”

“No, no.” She takes a bracing gulp of hot chocolate-and-tequila. “Regina’s perfect, obviously. We’re doing great. Things are definitely… moving along. I’m just—” For several excruciating moments, her lips move soundlessly, the words refusing to come.

“She already has _everything_ ,” Emma eventually forces out. “Great kid, great career, great house… she basically runs half the mall. It’s like, what can I possibly add?”

She’s relieved when Belle stays silent. If she’d said anything, Emma doubts she’d be able to force herself to go on. But go on she does.

“I can't buy her anything she can't get herself. I’m sure as hell not some big catch she can show off to her family or business partners or whatever. And I can't even help with this _fucking_ holiday because I’ve never—” She slams Belle’s mug onto the table. It’s that or chuck it at the wall. “It’s not like I ever had any experience with this crap—with tons of things, really. I’ve never even taken care of a goldfish; how am I supposed to take care of a _kid_?”

Emma deflates with a slow breath. Her gaze stays locked on her hands, too afraid to meet Belle’s eye, but eventually the other woman’s fingers creep into view, slowly sliding over hers.

“Wow,” is all she says, startling a choked laugh out of Emma. “And have you shared any of… all that with Regina?”

“Oh hell no. Don’t want to scare her off.”

Belle shakes her head. “Right, clearly repression is working out much better.”

“Well what am I _supposed_ to do?” whines Emma, throwing up her hands.

A shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“How should I know?” cries Belle, matching her incredulous tone. “I’m not _magic_.”

Despite herself, Emma’s face cracks into a grin. “Come on, isn't that how it works? You’re wise, I’m desperate. I spill my guts, you say the perfect one-liner to make everything make sense and solve all my problems.”

This whole conversation, Belle’s worn her usual expression, soft and quietly encouraging. But now her face shifts to a look of flat exasperation straight from Mulan’s arsenal.

“You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”


	6. T-Minus ̶5̶ 4 Days

The days leading up to Christmas are busy ones for Storybrooke Mall.

At least that’s Emma’s excuse. After her bungling of Regina’s invitation, followed by her bungling of Zelena’s arrival and capped off by a minor breakdown, she traded shifts with Lance to dodge her usual evening at the Mills residence. The excuse had worked, but the Millses themselves were far from impressed, which is probably why she’s ambushed by Henry in the security office the next afternoon.

“Three days,” is how the little shit greets her.

“Four!” Emma protests. “Today’s not over yet.”

In his seat before the monitors, Graham makes a show of checking the time. “Mall closes in twenty,” he reports, very unhelpfully. “Cutting it a little close there, Swan.”

Flopping down into the chair beside Henry, she sends Graham a one-fingered salute behind the kid’s back. “I’m getting there,” she insists. “I think I might finally have an idea.”

“Is it… a _good_ idea?” There’s really no need for Henry to take that tone. He's definitely Regina’s son.

“Just for that, I’m not telling.”

Naturally, now that she’s cut herself off from her second opinion, Emma’s doubts rush back in. Absently drumming her fingers against Henry’s shoulder, she tries to put her thoughts into order.

Even though Belle didn’t have the answers, unloading on her poor friend gave Emma a weird sort of clarity. She really did mean everything she said, both the good and the bad. For instance, the part about her and Regina being solid. Emma has zero complaints about their relationship; she’s never doubted that Regina likes her as she is. She isn't entirely sure _why_ , but that’s something she can live with.

So, the gift. Henry was right on the money a few days back: Regina does like Emma. Therefore, Emma should get something that captures the essence of… uh, herself. A little egotistical, but it’s the best she’s got. Now she just needs to figure out what that something is.

It’s not an easy task. Emma's never been one for introspection, and now she can't help but compare herself to Regina, which usually just ends up depressing. Regina makes pretty much everything look easy, and though Emma knows how much work she really puts in behind the scenes, that only makes her more impressive. Be it raising Henry or making fake sex coupons to screw with Mary Margaret—

Emma slams the brakes on her train of thought. _Sex coupons_. Now that’s an idea…

“Emma?”

She looks down to see Henry staring back from beneath her arm. “Yeah?” she says, sitting straight with a twinge of guilt.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

Emma blinks, then scowls. “You haven't gotten me anything yet? But you’ve been giving me so much sh—such a hard time about Regina’s!”

“I’m _ten_ ,” he points out. “I’ve been getting away with handmade cards for years.”

Man, the kid really has the holiday season by the throat, doesn’t he. “So why ask?” Emma demands.

Henry shrugs. “Dunno.”

Emma sighs. He’s been hanging out with her too much. “Don’t worry about it,” she tells him. “I’d love a card.” She really would, which is just a little sad. Thankfully, a knock on the door stops her from dwelling.

“Probably your mom.” Emma clambers to her feet with more than a little dread. Regina definitely didn’t buy her night shift excuse yesterday, but let it go with little more than a knowing look. Emma doesn’t expect her luck to last much longer, though. She can't dodge her girlfriend forever—nor does she want to.

But as it turns out, she can dodge for at least a little longer. When she opens the door, it’s not Regina standing there, but her sister.

“Officer Swan,” greets the taller woman. “What a surprise.”

“I work here,” Emma says. So far, she's spent all of five minutes with Zelena and she’s already over her. “Henry, it’s your aunt.”

“What’s the rush?” cackles Zelena, craning her neck to peer into the security office. “We never had a chance to finish our chat yesterday.”

“True,” says Emma, not budging from the doorway. “Henry?”

“Bye, Emma.” The boy slips past her leg to stand beside his aunt, whose amusement only deepens.

“I see,” she chuckles. “Well then, munchkin, let’s be off.”

Almost too late, a thought occurs to Emma. “Wait!” Zelena doesn’t stop until Henry digs in his heels. Good kid. “Zelena, what did you get Regina for Christmas?”

“I don’t bother with religious holidays,” sniffs the redhead. “Perhaps you mean to ask what I got her to commemorate the hibernal solstice?”

“What?”

“Wiccan Christmas,” Henry supplies.

“Of course.” Emma would like it on the record that she tries really, _really_ hard not to roll her eyes. “Yeah, that. What’d you get her?”

“Oh, no,” Zelena sneers. “I’m not getting in the middle of… all that.”

Emma feels her fists ball at her sides. “How are you not already? You’re literally here instead of Regina,” she grinds out.

Zelena pauses, thinking this over for almost a minute. “True,” she says at last.

And then she turns and walks away.

-

❅

-

Okay, yesterday she may have been bullshitting, but today Emma really does have a reason to stay late at work.

“I swear,” she tells a dubious Graham and Lance. “I’m being stalked by Santa Claus.”

Her fellow security guards have a brief staring contest, neither wanting to be the one to speak up. Lance loses.

“Emma," he says gently, “We’ve all noticed that you’ve been having… issues with the holiday season.”

“No!” she cries. “I mean, yes, obviously I do, but this is a different thing.”

Lance gives her a serious nod. He’s a lot like Mulan, if Mulan was male, black, and built like a refrigerator. “So this is about Regina.”

“No!”

“You’re _sure_ it was Santa?” asks Graham. “Big fat chap?”

Emma nods. “Yes.”

“Long white beard?” Lance chimes in.

“Obviously.”

“But did he wear boots and a suit of red?”

Lance’s solemn expression cracks into a grin. “Did he wear a long cap on his head?”

“Did he have a big red cherry nose?”

“Did he laugh this way: ‘Ho ho ho’?”

“ _Yes_ ,” groans Emma, rolling her eyes.

“Must be Santa,” the boys say in unison.

Ugh. She gets enough Christmas music out on patrol. “You done?”

“Sorry,” chuckles Graham, not sounding very apologetic. “Now, do you have any idea why Mister Claus would be upset with you?”

“Like what?”

“Well,” says Lance. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

With a noise like a deflating balloon, Emma lets herself sag forward until her forehead hits the table. “Can we please just go through the security tapes?”

With a final giggle, Graham turns back to the monitors. “If you like,” he says. “But don’t get your hopes up. Half the cameras are just for show—”

“And half the rest don’t work,” Emma sighs, sitting up to watch the screens. “I know. We really should get those replaced.”

“We’ll have to do it ourselves,” Graham reminds her. “Mr. Gold won't pay a repairman.”

“We’d need to drag the ladder out of storage,” Emma says glumly.

“And the cherry picker for the ones up in the atrium,” adds Lance.

A pause.

“Maybe next month,” Emma says. Just like she said last month and the month before.

“Next month,” agrees Lance, moving to Graham’s other side. “Now, when and when did you see Santa?”

“Central plaza, er… four days back. Right before closing. And outside the pet store after lunch three days ago. And when I was leaving the cineplex yesterday morning.”

“What were you doing there?” asks Graham.

“What do you think? Elsa snuck Henry and I into _Home Alone 3_.”

“Emma,” Lance chides.

“What? I wasn’t on duty!”

“No, the _third_ one? Really?”

“Henry likes the spy stuff! And the parrot is hilarious,” she mutters.

“I’m more of a dog person myself,” Graham muses.

“We _know_ ,” Emma groans. Yesterday’s late shift had been with Graham, and that meant nonstop dog stories. And pictures. And sometimes impressions. To be fair, the guy does a great howl—but an only so-so bark, because Irish wolfhounds apparently aren’t big barkers. Just one of the dog facts now drummed into Emma’s skull.

Lance sighs. “I guess it could be worse,” he says. “At least it wasn’t the fourth.”

Emma and Graham both make sounds of mild surprise. “There’s a fourth one?”

“And a fifth,” he informs them. “They’re real bad.”

“Huh,” says Emma, then shakes herself. “Right, the cameras. Focus up, guys.”

They focus up, not that it does much good. An hour later, all they’ve learned is that the mall’s camera situation is even bleaker than expected. None cover the front of the cineplex, there’s… _something_ smeared all over the lens of the one by the pet store, and the footage from four days ago is already deleted because Gold is too cheap to buy more video storage.

“Who was on duty then?” asks Emma. “Where’s the schedule?”

“Not sure,” Graham replies, which isn't exactly promising.

When they finally dig it up, the log is in sorry state. They all stopped putting any effort into their signatures ages ago, and at some point Ruby got her hands on it and doodled cartoon wolves on every other line.

“Okay,” Emma says, tossing the useless clipboard on the table. “Mulan was with me, so it must have been one of you two, right? Do you remember seeing anything weird?”

“Weird and Santa-related?” Lance clarifies. “No, can't say I do.”

Graham strokes his beard. “Four afternoons ago—Oh!” he gasps, eyes darting to the schedule. “ _Ruby_. We left after we helped her tape herself to the ceiling for—”

“The snake thing. Right,” Emma sighs. “Why’d you leave?”

“We thought it might backfire,” explains Lance, a little sheepishly. “And I guess this is how it did.”

Faced with yet another dead end, the trio falls quiet for a long moment before Lance breaks the silence.

“Are we… bad at our jobs?”


	7. T-Minus   ̶4̶ 3 Days

“Don’t worry, I believe you,” says Regina, striving to keep a straight face and not quite succeeding. “My, you’ve had an eventful two days.”

Emma returns a grin of her own, sheepish at the reminder of her avoidance. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I was… embarrassed.”

Her girlfriend’s face goes carefully blank. “About Zelena, or…”

“Of _course_ I’d rather spend Christmas with you and Henry,” Emma blurts. “I just wasn’t, like, a _hundred_ percent sure you’d invited me. Honest.”

A little of the tension seeps from Regina’s shoulders, but a shadow still hangs over her expression. “That’s what bothers me,” she says. “Even if I hadn't asked—and I did, to be clear—why would it even be a question? You must know how much we adore you. Of _course_ we’d want you with us,” she says, echoing Emma's tone.

“I know, I really do. It’s just… Christmas,” Emma finishes lamely. “Not exactly my favorite time of year.”

“I noticed,” says Regina, voice dry. “Though apparently the sentiment doesn’t extend to cookies.”

Emma looks away, cheeks warming. “I told you, I didn’t _know_ those were for Henry’s class.”

A smile rises on Regina’s face like the sun over the horizon, only to cloud over too quickly for Emma to return it. “You can always talk to me,” she says. “I didn’t push the other day, and I’m still not asking you to share anything you’d rather not, but if you’re ever uncomfortable, I need you to let me know.” She reaches across her desk to take Emma’s hands in hers. “Not just with the holidays, but anything. I want to help. We’re partners. Family. No matter what’s bothering you, I’ll _always_ want to help.”

It’s easy to sink into her eyes, warm and brown and inescapably earnest. Emma lets out a sigh, flipping her hands over to interlace their fingers. “I know,” she sighs. “You’re too good to me.”

“Never.” Regina smiles again, and this one sticks. “Only exactly as good as you deserve.”

They lean in unison, lips meeting in a slow, soft press. The kiss deepens by silent agreement, mouths moving fervently until Emma feels dizzy at the sheer emotion rushing through her lips. The current of her adoration meets Regina’s, their passion mingling like the puffs of breath across their cheeks before crashing back over them both.

These kisses are always her favorites, more than the swift pecks they trade in public or even the rougher ones exchanged in private with eager tongues and playful teeth. These kisses are part of the reason she’s so sure about Regina’s feelings for her, and her own in return—it’s hard to lie when you’re too drunk on each other to think.

Although… they _are_ in private now.

When they part, breathing hard, Emma meets Regina’s eyes and finds just the spark she was hoping for.

“There’s another forty minutes in my lunch break.”

“ _Yes_ ,” gasps Regina, no more, no less, and Emma’s pants are already halfway down her thighs.

But then, as she’s trying to untangle her boots from her jeans—distracted by the bare curve of Regina’s hip and the even more naked amusement in her eyes—Emma finds herself hesitating. Not for any lack of eagerness, because that would be _literally impossible_ , but because of the sound leaking through the walls of Regina’s office.

A second later, Regina hears it too. She tugs her dress down as she crosses the room, drawing a groan from Emma that tapers off when she holds up a finger. Shimmying her pants back up in sullen silence, Emma shuts up and listens.

After nearly a month of them, she’s become a master at the ancient art of tuning out Christmas songs. Tuning back in takes a moment of thought, even after she joins Regina by the door and they crack it open to better hear the music. A few seconds after that, they hear it again: a censoring _BLEEEP_ that blares out over the lyrics.

 _“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell ***k,”_ carols the PA system.

“ _Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring_

_****ing and ****ing up bushels of fun_

_Now the jingle *** has begun.”_

Emma looks at Regina.

Regina looks at Emma.

“Ruby?” she asks.

“ _Ruby_ ,” Emma groans.

-

❅

-

By the time Lance and Mulan break into to the broadcast office, Storybrooke Mall has been treated to several rounds of _***k the Halls_ , a rousing rendition of _***kin’ Around the Christmas Tree_ , the classic _All I Want for Christmas Is ***_ , and Emma’s personal favorite, _I Saw Mommy ****ing Santa Claus_.

When she arrives, it’s just Ruby and Mulan in the room. The former is still in the announcer’s chair, the latter standing over her with hands on her hips, but both wear matching scowls.

“Oh, good!” Ruby’s eyes dart up as Emma enters. “Emma’s here. She can settle this. It was hilarious, right?”

Emma doesn’t get the chance to answer, which all in all is probably for the best.

“It was _horribly_ unprofessional,” snaps Mulan. “Do you have any idea how many complaints we’ve already gotten?”

Ruby lets out a rude noise. “They’ll get over it. It was probably the most exciting thing to happen to them all week.”

“No. It isn't. Because you’ve been pulling stunts like this all week.” Mulan visibly reins in her temper. “Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

“So what if I am?”

Emma shuts the door behind her. This seems like it’s going to get personal. “Ruby,” she says, stepping forward as Mulan whirls aside with a huff of frustration. “Does this have anything to do with what we were talking about the other day?”

Ruby is still frowning when she swivels to face Emma, though not as vehemently as she had been at Mulan. It makes sense; Emma’s only known them for a couple years, while they’ve known each other for most of their lives. Things are bound to be rawer between the two of them.

“I _said_ it was about more than that,” Ruby mutters. “It’s about how I’m almost twenty-six and I’ve had the same job since middle school. It’s about how everyone I know is moving on with their lives and I have _nothing_.” She twists to meet Mulan’s gaze. “It’s about how the farthest I’ve gotten from Storybrooke is the time we got plastered in high school and ended up in a Denny’s two states over!”

“So, what,” says Mulan, glare softening but mouth still set. “This was all some overdramatic cry for help?”

“Duh!” Ruby cries, flinging up her arms as she sags deeper into the chair. “I was never hiding that!”

When Mulan glances at Emma, it’s with questioning eyes and just a hint of guilt. “I didn’t notice at first,” the blonde admits. “But only because you’re normally so…”

“Dramatic?” Ruby snarls, side-eyeing Mulan. “Childish?”

“Awesome,” Mulan cuts in. “Wild. Hilarious.” She settles a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Ruby, I had no—” She hesitates. “I mean, you’ve never loved working here, I knew that. But is it really this bad? We’re here.” Her free hand waves between herself and Emma. “Plus, everyone knows Granny is planning to leave the restaurant to you when she finally retires to the North Pole.”

Ruby leans into her touch with a thin smile. “The job is… fine,” she grumbles. “It’s everything else that’s the problem. I mean come on, the highlight of my year was getting Regina to call me by my first name.”

“To be fair, that was big,” Mulan objects. “She never does that.”

Emma bobs her head. “She doesn’t even call _me_ by my first name all the time.”

Their friend looks unconvinced. “Yeah, but it’s only a big deal _here_. And that’s all I’m gonna get, because I’m never getting out of here. It’s not fair! Mulan, you’ve had your adventures, obviously, and Emma’s been all over…”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly sightseeing,” Emma objects.

Mulan frowns. “And I wouldn’t call two tours of duty an _adventure_.”

“Right. Sorry,” mumbles Ruby, shrinking into herself. It strikes Emma as fundamentally wrong to see her so deflated. “But I’ve never even left home, not really. Almost, once, but it… didn’t work out.” She heaves out a sigh. “Staying here wouldn’t be the worst if I’d done other stuff—you know, risky stuff, _exciting_ stuff—but I haven't even managed that. I’ve never even had a threesome!” She claps a hand to her face. “Ugh, I _am_ boring.”

“Is a threesome really the best way to judge—” Emma breaks off at Mulan’s glare. “I mean, boring people don’t hitchhike two states just to go to Denny’s,” she tries.

“Oh, we didn’t hitchhike,” corrects Ruby.

“Then how—”

Mulan has gone red. “The horses were returned eventually. That’s all that matters!”

“How have I not heard this story?”

“ _Focus_ ,” Mulan hisses, the pink fading from her cheeks. “Ruby, listen,” she says, leaning to look the slouching woman in the eye. “Really, _listen_. You’re my best friend. You’re a badass. You’re a classy bitch. And you’re way too young to have a midlife crisis.” She gives her friend a gentle shake. “You can still do anything you set your mind to.”

“I _guess_ , maybe. But what if it’s too late? Aren’t I supposed to be settling down by now? Everyone else is.” Ruby sets her jaw. “You have Belle. Emma has Regina. Lance has Gwen. Even Graham has that weird codependent relationship with his dogs!”

Mulan blinks. “What—Settling down? No, Belle and I aren’t there. Yet.”

“Regina and I definitely aren’t,” agrees Emma, then scowls at the reminder of her girlfriend. “Thanks for blue-beaning me, by the way.”

“ _Really_.” Well, at least Ruby’s recovered enough to leer. “Did I interrupt a nooner? Up top, Swan!” She raises a hand, glances at Emma’s, then pauses. “Actually, I’ll take a raincheck on the high five.”

“ _The point is_ ,” sighs Mulan, “settling down is bullshit. There’s never a schedule for these things. Maybe you’ll meet someone, fall head over heels, and share true love’s kiss all within, like, a week.”

“Sounds implausible,” Ruby mutters, but her eyes are thoughtful.

“And who says you can’t multitask?” says Emma. “Dates can be exciting.”

“Oh believe me, I _know_.”

“Not like that!” Beneath her obligatory sound of disgust, Emma grins. If Ruby feels good enough for innuendo, they’re making progress. “Seriously,” she goes on. “Who the hell could force you to settle down, anyway? Knowing you, you’ll find some kickass globetrotting adventure-person and settle… uh, up.”

Mulan rolls her eyes. “Emma’s an idiot,” she says fondly. “But she’s not wrong. You _can_ do both.”

A pause follows. Then, at long last, Ruby’s face cracks into a familiar wolfish grin.

“I _knew_ a threesome was the answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby's sidestory in this fic wasn't planned from the beginning, but I'm really happy with it. Her escalating pranks started as a simple (over)reaction to being called boring, but it just meshed so nicely with her arc from the show that I couldn't resist!
> 
> There's definitely more Ruby goodness in the remaining chapters, but what I've been calling her big threesome crisis is definitely the climax of her character arc (pun intended). I hope it didn't come out of nowhere for anyone.


	8. T-Minus       ̶3̶   2 Days

“Aw, why can't I? It’s _festive_.”

“It’s red.” Regina plucks at one pleather sleeve. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

Frozen halfway into her jacket, Emma pulls a face at her girlfriend. “It’s just the mall Christmas party,” she groans. “No one’s going to care.”

Regina doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead crouching to bid Henry goodbye. “Be good for Tía Zelena,” she orders, planting a kiss on his forehead. “We’re counting on you to help her with Robin.”

“And make sure she doesn’t burn the house down,” Emma adds, not quite under her breath. Between Henry and Zelena, there’s no question whose maturity she trusts more.

“I heard that.” The woman herself slinks into the foyer, sneer barely softened by the baby in her arms. “Honestly, like I’d set anything on fire with my own daughter in the building.”

“And your nephew,” points out Regina.

“Right.”

“Zelena…”

“Don’t worry, sis. Henry and I are going to have an entertaining, educational evening. Much better than yours, I daresay.”

Emma’s pretty sure that’s a dig at her, but she’s too busy stealthily slipping the rest of the way into her jacket to fire back. Fortunately, she has Regina for that.

“Yes,” she drawls, “I suppose it will be nice for him to be the smartest one in the room.”

“Hah!” Insulting Zelena is about as effective as kicking a cannonball; she’s always too delighted to be offended. Grinning, she flaps a hand in their direction. “Go on, then. Shoo!”

With a fist-bump for Henry, and a wary look for his aunt, Emma follows her girlfriend out the door. As she steps into the December chill, she closes it behind her, though not before overhearing Zelena’s idea of an educational evening.

“Who wants to see a ceremonial dagger?”

-

❅

-

“I’m not calling you possessive,” Regina says, lips twitching. “But you tend not to get along with my friends. Zelena, Sidney…”

“Zelena’s family,” grumbles Emma. “I don’t have to like her. And Sidney’s not your _friend_. He’s a minion at best.”

Regina replies with an indecipherable sound. “Sidney's not so bad. He’s… resourceful, at least.”

“And I get along fine with Kathryn.”

“Right,” mutters Regina, using the same tone her sister had back at the house. Emma feels her eyes widen.

“Wait, does Kathryn not like me?”

“I never said that.” Regina clears her throat, suddenly very interested in someone across the room. “Actually, I think I see… Ah, yes. Excuse me, dear.”

Emma blinks, mouth dropping open as her girlfriend flees. _Kathryn?_ “Never liked her anyway,” she grumbles. “Stuck-up blonde b—”

“Emma! How are you?”

“Gah! Oh, Kathryn.” Emma tries not to look too guilty. “Heyyy.”

-

❅

-

“Last one done loses their sweater!”

As Ruby tips back her beer, shortly followed by Belle, Graham and Lance, Emma joins Mulan on the rim of the fountain.

“It’s good to see Ruby back to normal.”

The comment draws a dry chuckle from Mulan. “Was she ever _normal_ , though?”

They watch Graham slam down his cup a moment after the other three, beard flecked with foam. With a groan that turns into a belch halfway through, he wriggles out of his Christmas sweater and cedes it to Belle, who tugs it on over her own. “Again!” Ruby whoops, and the quartet sets off for the bar.

“She _is_ feeling better, though?” Emma looks to her friend for confirmation. “I know we cheered her up yesterday, but that was some deep stuff.”

Mulan’s face could be carved from stone. “She’ll be fine,” she says. “I’ll make sure of it.” Emma’s known her long enough to see regret in the crease between her eyebrows.

“Hey, don’t leave me out.” She throws out an elbow that Mulan absently dodges. “We all want Ruby happy. I just wish I’d noticed sooner.”

The wrinkle only deepens. “I _should_ have seen it sooner.”

“We got there in the end.” Emma’s not used to being the steady one among the two of them. “Really, all we need to do is cheer her on. C’mon, Ruby’s never going to be boring.”

A nod from Mulan. “She doesn’t need to change,” she agrees. “Maybe all she needed was a confidence boost.”

 _Huh_. Emma turns this over in her head. “Yeah…” she says slowly, thoughtfully. “Good point. She’ll probably be ninety and still spreading lube on doorknobs.”

Mulan grimaces. “It was _Vaseline_.”

“Nah, definitely lube. I heard she got it from Mary Margaret’s sex shop.”

“Grow up,” groans Mulan, but between her eyes, the crease has finally eased.

“Never.” Reassured, Emma switches topics. “You haven't seen _him_ yet, have you?”

“Not yet.” Unlike the boys and Ruby, Mulan took Emma’s Santa-related issues completely seriously. They’ve all been keeping an eye out for the man—or woman—in the suit, but the mall Santa hasn’t set a toe out of line for days. Either he’s laying low, or all the kids visiting his grotto are keeping him too busy for creeping.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that no one knows who he is?” she wonders aloud.

Mulan hitches one shoulder. “I just thought it was for safety reasons.”

“Oh, so no kids find out?”

“What? No, so Granny doesn’t corner him in a dark alley and try to take the costume off his corpse.”

Both their gazes slide to where the restauranteur is angrily knocking back eggnog with Marco. “Yeah,” Emma says. “That tracks.”

They fall into a comfortable silence that Mulan eventually breaks with a low sigh. “So,” she says. “Found a present for Regina yet?”

“No need to sound so excited.” Emma’s eyes drift to Regina at the sound of her name. She’s on the other side of the atrium, talking to Sidney—and, to Emma’s faint glee, neither of them looks happy.

“I’ve got an idea,” she informs Mulan. “Might need your help for parts of it.”

Mulan glances sideways at her. “Does that mean you’re done freaking out?”

“Oh, not even close,” says Emma, quite cheerfully.

“Fantastic.”

“What are you two doing?” Ruby materializes in a cloud of holiday-y smells, from the dusting of gingerbread on her fingertips to the peppermint-tinted booze on her breath. She’s accompanied by Belle, who now wears four Christmas sweaters of varying size and a very smug expression.

“They’re having a heart to heart,” coos Belle. Her accent, always thicker when she drinks, turns it into _haht t’ haht_. “Lookit them, all strong ’n silent ’n serious. Adorable.”

Ruby finds this hilarious, draping herself over the shorter brunette’s shoulders as they both shake with laughter. Emma just exchanges looks with Mulan, who seems caught between savoring her girlfriend’s words and wishing she hadn't said them in public.

“Anyway, anyway.” Ruby drags herself more or less upright. “You two need to come with us. August got the karaoke machine working, and we’ve gotta get there before Elsa starts hogging the microphone.”

Mulan gets to her feet with only token resistance, but Emma is given a more compelling excuse when Regina approaches, a vision in her dress of dark green velvet. It stops at her collarbones to bare glowing shoulders, and beneath a broad black belt the skirt hugs her hips only to flare around her knees, putting Emma in mind of the world’s sexiest Christmas tree.

Or maybe an… elfish centerfold? Either way, she’s very turned on and a little ashamed.

She finds herself on her feet and drifting toward her girlfriend, lured by Regina’s own appreciative gaze. It’s only when Emma’s hand is anchored in hers that she registers the running commentary courtesy of Ruby and Belle.

“—she’s not even listenin’,” giggles the latter. “Mulan, why don’t you ever look at me like that?”

“Oh, she does,” Ruby says between snickers. “You just don’t notice, because you’re looking right back.”

“S’not that bad,” is Mulan’s feeble defense.

“It’s terrible,” cackles Ruby. “Oh! Oh, they’re looking our way.” Fortified by several quarts of Christmas spirit, she doesn’t flinch beneath Regina’s steely gaze. “We’ll leave you to it!” she calls. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t—Hmm, no, wait. Don’t do anything Mulan wouldn’t do!”

The trio makes a wobbly turn and sets off, though not before Belle says, in a deafening whisper, “That’s more than y’might think.”

-

❅

-

Having had their fill of socializing, Emma and Regina are all too content to slip away, escaping the aggressive jolliness of the atrium for a more secluded upper walkway.

It’s almost romantic— _romantic_ because of the low light and twinkling decorations that Marco and August worked so hard to install; _almost_ because it’s still, in the end, the same mall they spend a third of their lives in. Emma sways slightly as they stand at the railing, the sounds of their friends and coworkers drifting up from below. She’s not swaying because of any drink, but out of a quiet sort of exhilaration, a low-key happiness that’s been building all evening.

In the past hours, she’s been surrounded by people she knows and trusts, laughing with friends and always dipping in and out of Regina’s orbit. Last year she was still new to Storybrooke, still half a stranger, but now she’s a fixture, part of their little kingdom.

And standing next to the queen, to boot. Regina shifts at her side, pulling Emma’s arm closer around her waist. The velvet of her dress feels strange under Emma’s palm, soft and bristly at the same time. No wonder Regina likes it.

She traces idle circles with her fingertips until Regina shifts again—no, _squirms_ , huffing through her nose as she drags herself from Emma’s arms. “That tickles,” she murmurs, catching the offending hand between her own. Dark eyes peer expectantly into Emma’s, but her only reply is a crooked grin.

“You haven't been listening to a word I’m saying, have you.”

“Sorry.” Freed from Regina’s grip, Emma leans her elbows on the railing, looking down at the party below. “I was… thinking.”

Regina nods like this explains everything. “Out of practice, I see.” Her lips twitch at Emma’s token sound of offense. “Any subject in particular?”

“My first Christmas.” Emma keeps her eyes aimed down as Regina settles against the barrier beside her. “Well, my second. Don’t really remember my first.”

“Not many do,” Regina murmurs, her gaze heavy on the side of Emma’s face.

“Right.” She swallows. “So… I was adopted young—really young. For a while, it was great. My—the people who took me in, they were great. Everything was great. I mean I was two, I didn’t know any different, but I had it made. When Christmas came around, they went the whole nine yards. Took me to see Santa, trimmed the tree, hung the lights. I remember her carrying me outside to watch him nail this huge shiny star up over the garage…”

She trails off until Regina’s cool hand comes to rest on hers. “I got tons of presents that year. But the year after, things were… different. They didn’t change all at once, but by the time it was Christmas again, even three-year-old me noticed. The lights, the tree, the presents… they did it all again, but it’s like they were holding back. Or trying too hard. Or both at once, somehow? I dunno.

“A few months later, she started to show. When I started asking questions, I guess they thought they couldn’t stall any more, so they sat me down and explained everything real nice—well, as nice as they could. ‘You’re adopted’ is always a tough one, even when you don’t follow up with, ‘And now we’re sending you back.’”

With a final shrug, Emma closes her mouth. There’s not much more to say. She’s not sure why she’s even talking about this. It’s not like they’re the whole reason she doesn’t get along with the holidays—they hadn't _helped_ , obviously, but it took years for Emma to learn to keep Christmas at arm’s length.

Regina doesn’t bother with the obvious like, “That’s terrible,” or, “You must have been so confused.” Instead, she asks, “Did you ever see them again?”

“Once. Looked ‘em up when I was living in Boston. Didn’t talk to them or anything, just…” She sighs. “You know.”

“ _Good_.” Regina’s voice is sharp enough to make Emma straighten, eyes flicking to hers. She feels a dull twist of surprise at the cold light in her eyes, the angry vein standing out on her brow. “They don’t deserve you,” she bites out, and Emma’s heart crawls up her throat.

“Regina…”

“They made a _promise_ , whether you knew it or not. Who could even—I would _never_ —”

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Fuck, she hadn't even thought of Henry. “You would never,” she agrees, running her hands down shoulders trembling with rage. “Everyone who’s spent five minutes with you and the kid knows that’s just… not who you are.”

For the second time tonight, epiphany sparks. Regina truly isn’t like them. She would never leave Henry; that much is ironclad. And maybe, just maybe, some of that could extend to Emma. All she has to do is reach out for it.

Regina takes a slow breath, then turns a rueful smile up at her. “I’m supposed to be comforting you,” she almost laughs. Her hands clench around the cool metal of the guardrail, and she shivers. Emma wastes no time slipping her jacket over her shoulders.

“Nah. I think I just… comforted myself?”

Regina remains in thoughtful silence for a moment longer, then turns to look at Emma with serious eyes, teeth peeking over her lower lip.

“Emma,” she murmurs. “I…”

Without conscious thought, Emma sways forward. “Yeah?” she breathes, voice husky.

“I thought I told you to leave the jacket at home.”


	9. T-Minus     ̶2̶  1 Day

“From Abacot to Zodiac: An Illustrated Guide to Heraldry Across the Ages.” Belle beams at Lance, hugging the massive tome to her chest. “I love it, thank you!”

“Nerrrd,” Ruby intones, slinging an arm around Belle’s shoulders. On her girlfriend’s other side, Mulan sways to avoid being smacked on the ear, resting a hand on Emma’s chair for balance. Across the table, Graham looks on with amused eyes, chuckling around his morning donut.

Lance just smiles back, quietly satisfied—and for good reason. It’s not often that any of them outdoes Belle when it comes to books. “My pleasure,” he murmurs, earning a cautionary look from Mulan.

Belle laughs at the expression on her girlfriend’s face. “At ease,” she chuckles. “You know there’s no competition.”

Lance is quick to nod.

“You’ll always be my magnolia,” Belle coos. Though delivered in an undertone, the endearment immediately draws the room’s attention, helped along by the red creeping up Mulan’s face.

“Like the movie?” Emma asks, bemused.

“Like her name,” corrects Belle, happily dodging the attempts of her increasingly crimson girlfriend to cover her mouth. “Hua Mulan. Magnolia flower.”

“ _How_ is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Ruby demands. There is delight shining in her eyes, but no mercy as she turns on her best friend. “Tell me, O precious flower, how could you keep this from me?”

Mulan shoots a betrayed glance at Belle, but the brunette is already flipping through her new book. “Here,” she says, spinning it around to present a page to the table. “The magnolia can represent nobility, determination, and femininity,” she quotes to general amusement. “This one’s the wrong species, though. These pictures show a tree, with white flowers—”

“O noble feminine tree,” cackles Ruby, then whoops as Mulan lunges for her across Belle’s lap.

“—while Mulan’s name references the type common to China, which is a smaller, deciduous shrub with pink or purple blossoms.”

“O determined deciduous shrub!” Ruby cries, now sprinting around the table with Mulan in hot pursuit. Belle keeps a straight face as she closes her book, but Emma doesn’t miss the twinkle in her eye. Apparently Ruby’s not the only one who can manage a little mischief.

Lips twitching, Belle reaches under her seat to grab a neatly wrapped rectangle. “That means I’m next to gift, doesn’t it?” she says, ignoring Ruby’s wails as Mulan finally seizes her by the ear. “Happy holidays, Graham.”

Surprise surprise, it’s a book. “How to Speak Dog.” He looks thoughtful. “I was told it couldn’t be done.”

“If anyone can manage it, you can,” says Lance, the encouragement accompanied by a slap on the back that nearly knocks Graham onto the table. He catches himself with a soft _oof_ , then grins at Belle.

“Thank you.” The present he produces is far less tidy, shiny red paper wrapped unevenly around an odd shape. “Now, Ruby”—finally escaping Mulan’s retribution, Ruby falls back into her seat just in time—“this is for you.”

Scraps of paper fly in every direction as she tears the gift open, gasping when she catches sight of what’s inside. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, setting the statue on the table. It’s a wolf, carved in rough strokes from dark wood. The animal is suspended in mid-leap, only its hind paws touching the base.

“Did you make that?” Emma asks, thoroughly impressed. Graham ducks his head bashfully.

“It’s just a hobby. This one’s actually an older piece, but you know Ruby and wolves…”

They all nod, except for Ruby, who is tilting her gift back and forth with little growling noises. “I think she likes it,” Mulan drawls as she returns to her chair.

“It’s awesome, Graham,” she confirms. Eyes dropping back to the wolf, she draws a small, square box from the pocket of her apron and slides it across the table. “Emma, here.”

Bemused, Emma opens it to reveal… a lump of coal.

“You know, because you have that whole… Santa situation.” When she looks up, she finds Ruby grinning back. “Oh, _relax_ , I’m messing with you! Your actual gift’s still in the mail—Hey!” She ducks just in time for the coal to arc overhead. “ _Emma_ ,” she whines.

Emma smirks back. She’s not really upset—the “Santa situation” shouldn’t last much longer, anyway—but it’s the principle of the thing. Shaking her head, Emma pushes her own gift, a pair of engraved DunBroch knives, into Mulan’s hands. She peers into the box to read the inscriptions, then looks up with pleased eyes.

“Strength and Discipline,” she says. “Who told you my battalion motto?”

“Ruby,” sighs Emma. “Proof she _can_ be considerate, when she feels like it.”

“You’ll get your real present on Christmas! Lighten up!”

Mulan concludes this year’s secret Santa by presenting Lance with a new motorcycle helmet. “I’ve been getting all my gear from them for years,” she informs him. “Perfectly padded—not that you’ll need it. You’re almost _too_ safe a rider.”

With a soft snort, he pulls the helmet over his head. “How do I look?”

“Huge improvement,” quips Emma, grinning into the mirrored visor.

Lance sighs, head swiveling toward Ruby.

“You should’ve given her more coal.”

-

❅

-

“Thanks, Marco!”

Emma leaves the toy store with a wave, her free hand tucking the small box into her utility belt. Sadly, it’s not a Nerf gun; today she was here for Marco the handyman, not Marco the toymaker.

She resumes her patrol with a smile lingering on her lips, making a loop around the upper walkways before descending to stroll through the atrium. Santa’s grotto is empty, a line of impatient parents and children waiting for the jolly old elf to finish his lunch break.

Five minutes later, she’s past the crowds, ambling through a less busy wing filled mostly by offices and consulting firms. She pauses before a tinted window labelled _Hades, Jafar, & Facilier, Attorneys at Law_, humming to herself as she studies the mirrored glass. Moments later, she sees what she’s looking for and smiles.

Hitching up her belt, Emma moves on, easy stride betraying nothing. Then, as she rounds the next corner, she unhooks her walkie from her belt.

“He still there?”

 _“He’s hanging back,”_ Mulan reports from the security office. _“Doesn’t want to follow too close.”_

Still walking, Emma nods up at the nearest security camera. Thanks to the filthy-richness of the tenants occupying this wing, nearly all its cameras are in working order, giving her partner a clear view of both Emma and her holly, jolly shadow. He’s been tailing her since his break started half an hour ago, but with the entire security staff on the lookout, they’d caught on quick.

 _“Incoming,”_ warns Mulan. _“Target on the move.”_

She takes a few more steps away from the corner, then turns, bouncing on her toes and flexing her knees.

When he rounds the bend, the ethnically ambiguous mall Santa finds Emma already barreling toward him. His eyes bulge out of his head, and he tries to make a run for it, hat bouncing and belly jiggling.

Emma catches him in a flying tackle before he can dart back around the corner. They go down in a ball of red satin and security-issue khaki, a wheeze exploding from his lungs as he faceplants on the tiles. Teeth bared, she hauls him onto his back and yanks down his polyester beard to reveal a familiar face.

“Sidney?” she cries. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man struggles for another moment, mittened hands slapping at her shoulders, then gives up and melts into a red-and-white puddle on the ground. “My job,” he pants.

“As… Santa Claus? I know I haven't been the nicest girl this year—”

“As a _private detective_.”

Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense. Emma frowns. “Do I owe someone money, or…” Another thought strikes, and she feels her face go slack. “Wait, does Regina think I’m _cheating on her_?”

“Hah! I wish.” Sidney scoffs, then shrinks beneath Emma’s glare.

“So it _is_ Regina.” The realization is no comfort. “But _why_?”

“I’m not authorized to divulge any client information,” he sniffs, doing his best to look aloof while spread-eagle on the floor with a crooked beard and a deflating belly. “Also… maybe it’s not her.”

“Yeah right.” Clambering off Sidney, Emma hauls him to his feet. “I’m taking you in, Sherlock.”

“I’d say I’m more of a Marlowe—”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’re coming with me.”

Even as he stumbles along at her side, Sidney sets his jaw. “I won’t tell you anything,” he blusters. “I can't betray my client’s trust.” A pause. “And I _really_ don’t like you.”

“You’ll talk,” mutters Emma, sending him a dark look. “They always talk.”

-

❅

-

“This one is Hunter; he’s such a rascal. That’s Luna, the alpha. Remus and Romulus, the twins. And here’s Fang, my youngest. Aren’t they just lovely? Here’s one of the whole pack…

“here’s one with us on a hike…

“Oh! Here’s Hunter fighting one of my boots, the scamp. Now here’s one from our latest camping trip…

“and from the trip before that one…

“and the trip before that…

“the trip before that…

“the trip before that…

“the trip before that…”

“Enough!” gasps Sidney. “Fine, _fine_! I’ll talk. Just get this dullard away from me!”

Graham straightens with an offended huff. “Suit yourself,” he grumbles, stalking to the door. “But I’m taking you off our Christmas card list.”

When he leaves, only Emma and Sidney remain in the security office. “Works every time,” she can't help but gloat. “And you’re missing out. His cards are hilarious.” They’re not meant to be, but only because Graham somehow can't see the humor in a nativity scene populated entirely by wolfhounds.

“It was Regina,” Sidney finally admits, sagging in his bonds. It probably wasn’t completely necessary to tie him to the chair, but it sure cheered Emma up.

She’s not feeling particularly cheery now, though. “Regina,” she mutters. “What are you up to?”

After a moment of silence, she turns to Sidney. “I'm not asking the wall, dude.”

His only response is a glower.

“I can call Graham back in. Did he tell you about the time Rolf got sick? Or the time Luna had puppies, or the time Fang—”

“Ugh,” the detective spits. “No, no more!”

“Then _tell me_.”

Sidney tells her.


	10. Christmas Eve

“Turn down the stove. Unless you _want_ those to burn.”

Emma rolls her eyes at Zelena’s snide suggestion. She’s no master chef, but all she’s doing is warming up the vegetables that Regina prepared last night. Even she can't mess that up. “I’ve got this,” she says. “Go stick your head in the oven.”

By which she means, “Go check on the roast,” of course, but Zelena is too busy backseat cooking to pay any mind to her own assigned task.

“You’re not stirring enough,” she snaps, grabbing for Emma’s tongs. “They’re going to be all uneven, you cretin.”

“Like you know any better,” Emma retorts, holding the utensil at arm’s length. “Yesterday it took you three tries to crack an egg. _Three_.”

Zelena snarls, red hair already frizzed into an angry cloud by the kitchen’s humidity. “I certainly do know better than you. There are _monkeys_ that know better than you. Now give it over!”

She lunges. Emma spins aside. By the time Regina returns, half the vegetables are on the floor, the roast is charred black on two sides, and little Robin is squealing in delight from her high chair as her mother brains Emma with a yam.

Both of them are summarily barred from touching the stove, the oven, or anything else more complicated than a spoon.

“This is your fault,” Zelena hisses over her cutting board.

Emma returns a glare over her mixing bowl. “Right back at you.”

-

❅

-

_Ho ho ho, ho_ , Ruby texts around lunchtime. Attached is a selfie, her face just barely peeking into the bottom of the frame. In the background, Mulan and Belle put the finishing touches on a gingerbread castle under Granny’s supervision.

_Dare me to lick it?_ follows a second later.

_No way. Need u alive. At least until tomorrow._ Laughing to herself, Emma tucks her phone away and wanders on in search of her girlfriend.

It’s no great surprise to find Regina in her study. At least, not on Emma’s end. Regina herself goes rigid at the creak of the door, slamming her phone down onto her desk almost hard enough to crack it—the desk, not the phone.

“Talking to your mistress?” asks Emma, trying not to look too amused.

Regina chuckles, though she can't seem to stop herself from glancing down to make sure her phone’s screen is safely hidden. “Of course not, dear,” she says, rising from her thronelike swivel chair. “Were I having an affair, _you_ would clearly be the mistress.”

“Ouch,” Emma winces good-naturedly, then goes in for the kill. “No, really, who was it?”

As she watches Regina consider her options, Emma wonders if she’s being a bit cruel. After all, she knows exactly who her girlfriend is trying to contact and why she’s having no success. _Nah_ , she decides. She’s earned this. Emma can happily let Regina squirm for another hour or so before putting her out of her misery.

Well, maybe a few more hours.

Until tonight, tops.

She’ll let Regina off the hook _eventually_ , is what she’s saying.

“I should check on the lasagna.” Finally settling on avoidance, Regina sidles around her desk and out the door, squeezing Emma’s arm as she brushes past. The contact fails to distract her from the clumsy change of subject, but she merely smiles to herself and trails after Regina, already plotting her next move.

Oh, today is going to be _fun_.

-

❅

-

“Reach, kid!”

“I am reaching!”

Emma spits a bristly branch out of her mouth, one arm braced against the wall and the other extended as far as it can go. The string of lights in the attached hand nearly falls out of her grasp, but Henry grabs it at the last second with a muffled sound of triumph. He pulls it into place, completing the loop around the fat Christmas tree in the corner of the family room, and they both extricate themselves from the evergreen with red faces and fir needles all over their shirts.

On the couch, Zelena applauds. “Almost there,” she calls, nudging a cardboard box labelled _ORNAMENTS_ across the floor with her foot. “Only five boxes to go.”

While Henry dives into the decorations with gusto, Emma takes a breather to glare at their audience. “Feel like pitching in?”

Zelena reaches to the side and picks up Robin, who has been happily dozing for the past hour. “Sorry, can't take my eye off this one,” she claims, holding up her giggling daughter like a shield. “Ah, motherhood.”

Shaking her head, Emma joins Henry by the tree. They slowly drape it in more lights and ornaments and strings of tinsel, pausing every few minutes so he can tell her the story of this or that bauble. They’re not very _interesting_ stories, but she’s happy to nod along, savoring the glimpses of Henry’s childhood.

When they reach the topper, a faded porcelain angel, Henry goes quiet for the first time all day. “This was abuelo’s favorite,” he murmurs. “That’s what mom always says, anyway. I never met him.”

Awkwardly, Emma pats his shoulder.

“You should hang it,” Henry decides.

“Oh, kid…” She crouches to look him in the eye. “Are you sure?”

He squints at her. “You’re taller,” he points out. “Duh.”

Oh. Well, she’ll take what she can get. “Dang right I am,” she agrees, straightening to size up the tree. “Not _that_ tall, though.”

Minutes later, she’s balanced atop two stacked chairs, angel cradled beneath one arm. “No one mentions this to Regina,” she orders the room at large.

Henry nods, Robin gazing up wide-eyed from his arms. Beside them, Zelena places a hand on Emma’s makeshift ladder.

“Careful,” she singsongs. “Could be a nasty fall.”

Suddenly, Emma wishes she'd fetched the actual ladder from the garage.

-

❅

-

Once both feet are safely back on the floor, Emma snaps a picture of Henry, dwarfed beside the fully adorned tree. She sends it to Ruby and gets another selfie in return, she and Belle each kissing one of Mulan’s flaming cheeks under the mistletoe.

Joining Regina in the kitchen, she whistles at the array of platters and dishes covering every square inch of counter space. One rich, sweet scent draws her toward the fried plantains, glowing a delicious golden-brown and oh so tempting—

“No,” snaps Regina, and Emma freezes with her hand halfway to the bowl.

“You’re not even looking!” she objects. “Maybe I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You can have _one_.” Regina grants, tone smug.

_“Fine._ Hey, it’s almost like you have eyes everywhere,” Emma teases, and watches her shoulders tense. Grinning, she grabs a pair of plantains, shoving one into her mouth and holding the other up as she moves to Regina’s side. Both hands wrist-deep in a mixing bowl, her girlfriend hums approvingly as she takes a bite.

“Tree’s all set,” Emma reports through a full mouth, earning a wrinkle of Regina's nose. “And your sister only tried to kill me once.” Feeding the rest of the plantain to Regina, she glances around the room. “You really went all out, huh?”

She hums, far too casual. “For Henry,” she says.

“Of course.” Emma wraps her arms around Regina’s waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “I’m already looking forward to the leftovers. They’re going to last _forever_ , even after we take some to Ruby’s tomorrow.”

“That girl,” Regina sighs fondly. “She could have invited us before the last minute.”

“Must’ve forgotten,” Emma lies. Ruby only failed to relay the invitation because they’re not, in fact, visiting her and Granny tomorrow. Emma’s happy to point the blame at her friend, though; she still owes her for the coal. She smiles into the side of Regina’s neck.

“How long ‘til dinner, anyway?”

“The ham will take another hour and a half—”

“Ugh. Thanks, Zelena.”

“ _But_ ,” she says over Emma’s groan, “there’s a baked brie on the counter by the door. You can take that and the other snacks to the table for now.”

Beaming, Emma has the allowed dishes piled in her arms before the penny drops. “So you could’ve just let me have em,” she accuses, chin tilting toward the plantains nestled in the crook of her elbow.

Even from behind, Regina’s amusement is obvious. “I could have. I didn’t.”

With a huff, Emma leaves the kitchen, though not before a final jab.

“Careful. I hear Santa’s always watching.”

-

❅

-

She might have overdone it with that Santa comment.

Regina’s eyes linger on her all through dinner, her attention constantly tugged back to Emma by an invisible rubber band. The looks continue as they hang their stockings, as they line the fireplace with milk and cookies and a whole box of carrots, as they wear Henry out with games and animated holiday specials until his eyes drift shut despite his best efforts. Not long after, Zelena retreats to the guest bedroom, muttering something about being up early for the sunrise sacrifice, and Emma is finally the sole target of her girlfriend’s scrutiny.

Her stomach is full, her mind as loose as her limbs, so she doesn't even bother to keep a straight face as Regina leads her to the study. It feels wrong to do anything but smile at her girlfriend, even as she goes silent for several long minutes.

“You seem happy,” is what Regina eventually says. “And not just today. Ever since…”

She leaves the blank for Emma to fill, and she obliges. “Ever since the party.”

“Oh?”

Emma shrugs lazily. “Talking to you helped.” She watches Regina’s face soften. “What, you thought it was because I caught Sidney?”

Regina doesn’t droop so much as melt, posture collapsing as her suspicions are confirmed. “So you know,” she murmurs, hair falling about her face as she stares down at her lap.

“That you sicced your pet detective on me?” Emma leans forward, smile broadening. “Yup.” They’re side by side on the study’s couch, making it easy for her to set a reassuring hand on Regina’s knee. “Honestly, that sort of helped too.”

The next look Regina gives her is more familiar: disbelief, tinted with mild irritation. “He must have told you why,” she says, eyes sharpening with thought as she tries to puzzle out Emma’s reaction.

“Yup,” she repeats. “All that just to figure out what I wanted for Christmas. I hope you had a backup gift.”

“I do,” Regina answers on autopilot, still peering intently at Emma’s face. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

Emma has to admit, most peoples’ reaction to finding out their girlfriend had hired a professional snoop to follow them around probably wasn’t _relief_. But after spending the last month building up Regina’s perfection in her own mind, Emma welcomed the reminder that her girlfriend wasn’t all that. Regina was smart and gorgeous and slightly terrifying, that much was true. But she also spoiled her son and bickered with her sister and was just as stressed over this particular holiday tradition as Emma. Maybe even more so.

“I might’ve done the same thing if I thought of it.” Emma holds up a finger. “Of course, I didn’t think of it, because it was _insane_.”

Any sting is taken out of the words by her playful eyes, and she’s happy to see Regina roll her own. “I do apologize, in any case,” she mutters. “I may have been… a touch overzealous. With it being our first Christmas together, and considering your opinions on the holiday… You deserve the perfect gift.”

“I get it,” Emma says, magnanimous beyond compare. “I mean, not that I had any problems. Your present was a snap.”

Regina’s arched brow tells Emma exactly what she thinks of that blatant lie.

“What?” she whines, deflating. “It _could’ve_ been true.”


	11. Christmas Day

“Oh, man, a Lego X-wing!”

Regina smiles indulgently at the figure hunched before the tree. “Emma,” she says. “Perhaps we should let Henry open his own presents.”

“I was just helping,” her girlfriend mumbles, but rolls to her feet and joins Regina on the couch with a brilliant smile. Like Henry, she’s wide awake, both of them bouncing off the walls under Regina’s drowsy supervision. A pajama-clad arm flops over her shoulders as Emma wriggles one foot under her blanket, pressing frigid toes to Regina’s ankle.

She doesn’t give her the satisfaction of flinching, merely handing over the camera and nodding toward Henry. Emma hops off the couch and starts snapping pictures with childish delight, just as enthusiastic as the actual child still tearing his way through the boxes Regina had spent hours wrapping.

Emma helped too, or at least tried to. Some of hers had even been good enough that Regina didn't have to redo them later.

“There’s a lot of tape on this one,” her son grunts, little fingers scrabbling at the package. Emma bounds to his side, eager to defend her handiwork.

“There’s a trick to it,” she insists, picking at one corner. “You just have to… Uh, let’s try here… Huh, okay, what about _here_ … Nope. Darn.”

Two faces turn back toward the couch.

“Regina…”

“Mom, help!”

-

❅

-

Once Henry has unwrapped his gifts and inhaled his breakfast, he plants himself on the family room rug, Lego set spread out before him and several books within arm’s reach. Regina combs her fingers through his hair as she passes, then reaches beneath the tree to retrieve the last two boxes.

Earlier, Zelena presented Emma with a passive-aggressive scented candle and received an equally spiteful gift card for Bed Bath & Beyond in return. Regina’s own gift from her sister was that unique _Zelena_ blend of thoughtful and insulting, a handmade herbal cream meant to counteract premature wrinkles. She, being the responsible sibling that she was, gave her sister enough baby clothes to last Robin to the age of five—and a box of amateur magic tricks.

Now, all that remains is for her and Emma to exchange the gifts they’ve been agonizing over. Without Sidney’s… inside information, Regina knows her fallback is nowhere near the standard she set for herself, but she’s comforted by the matching apprehension on Emma’s face as she joins her on the couch.

She accepts the bag Regina hands her with eager hands, visibly fighting not to peek past the colorful tissue paper on top. “Can I—”

“Go ahead,” Regina hums. Emma can't expect much, but she still looks delighted to receive anything at all, digging through the gift bag until she unearths—

“Shampoo?” A laugh shakes Emma’s shoulders. “Wow, Regina, no wonder you needed Santa’s help.”

She feels her face heat, nose turning up as she glances away. “I didn’t mean for that to be _all_ I gave you,” she reminds her girlfriend. “I just happened to come across it, and your hair…”

Emma is rarely vain, but she does care for her golden locks. _Princess curls_ , Zelena once called them, and though it had doubtless been meant as an insult, Regina couldn't help but agree.

“Did you see my card?” Henry pipes up from the floor, wrinkling his nose at the shampoo bottle as Emma sets it on the table. He meets his mother’s eye with a disappointed shake of the head, and she returns a wry smile.

“Merry Christmas, Emma,” Emma reads off the folded construction paper. “Gee, kid, you really went all out.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Look _inside_.”

Regina doesn’t know what Henry wrote inside his card. He didn’t even let her sign it. But whatever the words are, Emma’s face brightens with every line, eyes glossy by the time she reaches the bottom.

“Thanks, Henry,” she mumbles, holding out an arm. “C’mere.”

He skips across the room to throw his arms around her middle, pushing them both into the back of the couch. Emma whispers something into his ear as she hugs back, and when they part, they wear matching grins.

“All right,” Emma sniffs, scrubbing a sleeve across her face. “Let’s do this. Regina, your turn.”

The box in her lap is plain and palm-sized. Regina feels her lips tighten as she undoes the ribbon and slips off the lid, breath stalling in her lungs as she looks inside to find…

A key. Freshly made, judging by the shine, but also vaguely familiar. She looks up to find Emma staring back with expectant eyes.

“Emma,” she murmurs. “Are you… asking me to move in with you?”

Regina can't entirely keep the apprehension from her tone, much to Emma’s amusement. It takes almost a minute for her to compose herself, but when she leans forward, her expression is all serious.

“I’ve been comparing us a lot, these past weeks,” she begins. “Our lives, our careers, our houses and-slash-or apartments.”

Regina nods slowly. She hasn’t missed Emma’s flashes of solemnity. She knows how important independence—no, self-sufficiency—is to her girlfriend. She’s noticed how little love Emma has for her own apartment. These facts bump together in her mind, almost but not quite fitting into a cohesive whole.

“Part of me…” Emma pauses, glancing between Regina and Henry. “Part of me has always worried about families,” she says. “You both know I don’t have the best record with them.”

Regina nods again, unsurprised when Henry does as well. She knows he and Emma have talked about this; about adoption and the lack thereof.

“I get… scared,” Emma admits, smiling weakly. “Especially when the family is as awesome as this one. I get worried that it won't last.” She shakes her head as they both open their mouths. “But I’m done with that,” she states, voice firm. “At least, I want to be. I _want_ this to last, and that means I need to stop worrying that I’m not enough.”

This time, Regina can't hold her tongue. She _is_ enough. Emma has always been enough, exactly as she is. “What are you saying?” she asks, fingers in a tense knot in her lap. “None of us want you to change.”

“I know.” Emma runs a hand through her hair. “Ugh, I’m not explaining this right. I don’t want to _change_ , I just… Being around you makes me want to be as great as you are. The best me—or at least a better me. A me that deserves you.

“And I can do that!” she adds, nodding to herself. “ _Me_ is something I can control—for a long time, it was the _only_ thing I could control. It’s something I can work on, and I will, because I plan on sticking around for as long as you’ll have me.”

Regina plucks the key from its box, closer to understanding but still uncertain. “You already deserve us. There’s nothing you need to prove.”

“Not to you, maybe, but…”

“Yourself.” And _this_ Regina understands. It took her decades to establish the line between her own accomplishments and her mother’s. It's not the same, but she knows the urge to build something of your own, something to anchor you when your past tries to drag you down. Emma recognizes the urge, at least, and clearly has some kind of plan, so she’s already handling it far better than Regina did.

“Your apartment?” she prompts, holding up the key.

Emma grins. “Where else to start? With that place, there’s nowhere to go but up!” Her face sobers. “The key’s… a promise. It means I’m going to make my place somewhere actually worth spending time in. Somewhere I feel proud to bring you two.”

“I already like your apartment,” Henry says loyally.

“It’s a metaphor, kid. _I’m_ the apartment.”

“But I already like you, too.”

Emma ruffles his hair. “I know you do. But I could be better, you know?”

“No.”

Privately, Regina agrees. But she can see Emma has made up her mind, and that making up her mind has taken a weight off her shoulders. How can Regina do anything but support her? She runs a thumb over the key’s teeth, starting to smile as Emma attempts to debate her son over the nuances of self-worth.

“Look,” Emma says, brow furrowing. “Put it this way: Wouldn’t my place be even cooler without the risk of rat bites or tetanus?”

Regina watches her son consider this for far too long. “I _guess_ ,” he finally decides. “But you’re not—”

“Oh, would you look at the time!” Emma bounces to her feet with a clap of her hands. “We’d better get moving.”

“Where?”

Henry’s question is answered with a nod to the key in Regina’s hand.

“C'mon, haven't you been paying attention?”

-

❅

-

“So, uh, what did you think?”

Regina feels Emma’s gaze on the side of her face, and resists the urge to smile. “I think you should keep your eyes on the road.”

“It’s a red light,” she grumbles. “And you know what I mean.”

Henry is with Zelena and Robin in the Mercedes, giving them privacy at the cost of riding in Emma’s rickety lemon of a car. Regina looks pointedly forward until Emma sighs and does the same, then replies.

“It’s a very nice key.”

Emma barks out a laugh. “I know it isn't, like, a _real_ present—”

“Isn't it?” Now Regina turns, cocking an eyebrow. “You still don’t realize how much you matter to me, do you?”

“I—” Relief shines from Emma’s smile. “I think I’m starting to.”

-

❅

-

Emma’s apartment is far cleaner than Regina’s ever seen it—and far more crowded.

When they arrive, Mulan and Lance are still wrestling the inflatable tree into a corner of the living room. Graham and Belle are setting the lone table, while Ruby pounces as they open the door, throwing up her arms with a shout of, “SURPRISE!”

Regina blinks. Behind Ruby, the room groans.

“We said we weren’t doing that,” sighs Emma, shoving her friend out of the way with the hand that isn't carrying a bag of leftovers. “Place looks great, guys!” she says, striding to the kitchen to add their food to the potluck.

“No thanks to you,” Lance calls, backed up by a round of playful jeers.

“I know, I know, I owe you.” She spins back to her guests, beaming. “Hear that? If anything’s wrong, don’t blame me.”

As Henry and Zelena laugh and roll their eyes, respectively, Regina just shakes her head. “When did you organize all this?”

“Day before yesterday, mostly. I did the cleaning, too; all these whiners had to do was decorate. Most of the decorations are borrowed, but I splurged on the tree. Like it?”

“It’s hideous.”

“I know, right?” Practically skipping back to her side, Emma takes her hand. “Here, lemme give you a tour. Look! That’s where the biggest mold patch used to be. Oh, and there’s where I boarded up the rat holes…”

-

❅

-

Regina doesn’t entirely approve of the apartment’s new décor, and the repairs are largely surface-level thus far, but none of that matters when held up against Emma’s obvious pride in her work. She’ll always be happy to see her girlfriend happy, even if her taste in posters is somewhere between _aging rocker_ and _teenage boy_.

“It’s very… you,” she manages to say straight-faced as Emma concludes the tour. “I look forward to sleeping over.”

Emma beams.

“Not for a while, though,” she says a moment later, smile dimming. “We’re gonna have to fumigate.”

Right on cue, something skitters along the far wall.

“Good choice,” mutters Regina.

When they return to the living room, they’re ambushed again by Ruby, this time flanked by Mulan and Belle. The latter two are wearing matching sweaters, collars not quite high enough to hide the dull gleam of concealer on their necks. More interestingly, a similar patch of makeup stands out beneath Ruby’s jaw, the shade closer to Belle’s skin than her own.

She catches Regina’s knowing look and turns red as her namesake; unexpected, given her usual pride in all things vulgar. “Presents!” she cries, hand twitching toward her neck as she turns to Emma. “Well, present, singular. Emma, sorry it’s late.”

A box is thrust forth, which Emma takes with some wariness. “It’s not more coal, is it?” she says, already looking inside. “Nope, it’s my second guess—a weird sex thing. Ruby, come on!”

Morbidly curious, Regina leans over to catch a glimpse. The box holds a collar, the same red faux-leather as Emma’s favored jacket. She considers it, then scans the room, immediately zeroing in on what Emma had missed. While her girlfriend shakes Ruby, ignoring her sputtered defense, Regina catches Mulan’s eye and shares a nod of amusement.

“Emma,” she speaks up before Ruby’s brain starts to leak out of her ears. “There—”

“Look, Mom, a puppy!”

Emma freezes mid-shake, Ruby going limp in her grasp. Her eyes widen as they fall on the dog cuddled in Henry’s arms, taking in the mud-colored fur with a soft gasp of recognition.

“You’re welcome,” Ruby says, woozily pulling free. Belle catches her as she stumbles, then hands her off to Mulan and starts to explain.

“We all pitched in. Thought he’d liven this place up. Sorry, he’s a little more work than a goldfish”—she winks at Emma—“but that just makes him even better practice.” Her eyes dart in Henry’s direction, and Regina feels her heart glow.

“I—” Emma starts, then stops in favor of simply holding out her arms. The puppy squirms as Henry passes him over, but soon settles into the crook of her shoulder, nosing along her jaw with shy, curious sounds. “I love him,” she whispers. “How did you know?”

“Saw you looking at him in the pet shop,” Mulan supplies. “Belle’s the one who suggested a pet in the first place, and Ruby—”

“I bought the collar!”

Emma laughs, getting a mouthful of ear for her troubles. “Thank you,” she says, hugging the dog closer to brush her cheek against his scruffy, wedge-shaped head. “All of you. He’s perfect.”

The puppy starts to fidget, and she sets him down to gallop across the floor on gangly paws. Regina watches Henry chase after him with a small smile on her lips, the expression growing when Emma leans into her side.

“Practice?” she asks, voice low.

Emma shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Oh, you know. Just one of the many things I was worried about.”

“And are you still?”

She feels Emma take a slow breath, savoring the scene before her.

“About some things,” she admits. “But not about this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes our Christmas special. Thank you for all the love for this story! I hope it scratched your SQ family itch this holiday season!


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